


mambo writes short prompts vol. 2

by mambo



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Short, Shorts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2018-09-25 12:51:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 52
Words: 36,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9821231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mambo/pseuds/mambo
Summary: A collection of short Stucky prompts written by mambo.





	1. Caribbean Coconut Fried Shrimp

**Author's Note:**

> I'm no longer including the fluffy part in the title because as y'all know from the Ghost Fic, they aren't always fluffy. First page will be a chapter guide, and I'll probably end this around 25 chapters since mambo writes fluffy tumblr prompts got way too long.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> softbrobucky asked: A belated Bucky birthday prompt: Steve's a waiter at a heavily themed restaurant (think Rainforest Cafe) and he's tired of people blatantly lying to get the over-the-top Free Birthday Dessert. It's Bucky's birthday and he wants his over-the-top Free Birthday Dessert. He may also want his cute waiter's phone number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: All of the food in this ficlet is from the Disney Springs Rainforest Café menu.

Steve Rogers has had it with these motherfucking college kids coming into motherfucking Rainfoest Café and ordering motherfucking free desserts when it’s not even their birthday. This happens at least once a shift, some group of giggling college first-years who don’t have good enough fakes to get into a bar, snorting as they say it’s Christie’s or Jeremy’s birthday and snapping pics on their cellphone as Steve brings out the Sparkling Volcano — a stack of mediocre brownies covered with vanilla ice cream, whipped cream, chocolate sauce and caramel with a motherfucking sparkler stuck on top. The Sparkling Volcano is a pain, the fact that these kids never calculate the $17 that the Sparkling Volcano costs into their tip is a pain, and capitalism? Yeah, that’s a pain, too.

So when this table of formerly well-behaved people start giggling and elbowing each other when Steve brings the dessert menu over, he knows it’s game over.

“Don’t do it,” says the hot guy who (somewhat inadvisably) ordered the Caribbean Coconut Fried Shrimp.

The woman who ordered the Tribal Salmon grins. “It’s his birthday,” she says.

“Oh man, she went there,” says Kale & Red Quinoa Salad with Chicken. He’s pretty cute, too.

“Shut up Sam,” says BBQ Bacon Cheeseburger.

“You’re all assholes,” Caribbean Coconut Fried Shrimp says. BBQ Bacon Cheeseburger giggles and nudges Kale & Red Quinoa Salad with Chicken. Kale & Red Quinoa Salad with Chicken rolls his eyes, but is smiling.

Steve hates them all.

“So, we’ll have one of those chocolate lava things.”

Steve — who is a good employee and a good person — does not sigh like he would like to. Instead he turns to Caribbean Coconut Fried Shrimp, plasters on a smile and says, “Happy birthday!” knowing in his heart of hearts that it is not, in fact, this guy’s birthday. The way that Caribbean Coconut Fried Shrimp kind of slumps in his chair only confirms this to Steve. He turns back to the rest of the table. “One Sparkling Volcano coming up. Can I interest you in something to go along with it? A Maya’s Mango Sorbet or a Raspberry Lemonade Freeze?” The ‘that you’ll actually pay for’ is implied.

“No, just the Sparkling Volcano,” Tribal Salmon says.

Steve feels the corner of his mouth twitch. “Alright. That’ll be just a few minutes.”

“Motherfuckers,” Steve mutters after he puts in the order for the cake. He had liked that table. They had seemed nice. He could’ve sworn that Caribbean Coconut Fried Shrimp had been checking him out.

Instead they’re making him bring a free hassle of a dessert. Fuck them.

He has enough time to check on two of his other tables before the Sparkling Volcano is up. He looks at the gloppy mess, says a little prayer, then lights the sparkler.

There’s an art to getting to the customer’s table with a lit Sparkling Volcano; it takes time and a certain grace. Steve isn’t quite proud of the fact that he’s been at Rainforest Café long enough to have mastered that art — this is still just a day job that he does to support himself while he makes actual art — but he does have the act down. He grins and he walks to the table, ready to sing the Rainforest Café non-patented birthday song.

And then BBQ Bacon Cheeseburger says, “Holy shit, that’s awesome. Let me get this on camera!”

The next few moments are kind of a blur. One second Steve is bending over to put the Sparkling Volcano down in front of the birthday boy, the next BBQ Bacon Cheeseburger is hopping up and into Steve. “FUCK,” Steve says as he loses his balance, eyes going wide as he falls back, sparkling dessert falling back onto him.

“Clint!” Someone shouts.

“FUCK,” Steve shouts again as the Sparkling Volcano lands on him. He grunts as the sparkler hits his skin — the neck, of all places — then quickly pushes it off of him. As the chocolate sauce extinguishes the flame, Steve just lets himself lay on the ground, neck throbbing. He notices that the “storm” has started and nearby electronic gorillas start pounding their chests and grunting as thunder cracks.

It feels appropriate.

He notices Caribbean Coconut Fried Shrimp get down on the ground next to him. “Jesus,” he says. “Just tell me,” Steve says, eyes feeling heavy. “Is today really your birthday?”

Caribbean Coconut Fried Shrimp looks down at him with his very blue eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “Why?”

“No reason,” Steve says, then passes out.

— —

Steve is sitting in the employee back room holding a cool washcloth to his neck when Caribbean Coconut Fried Shrimp walks in. “Hey there,” he says.

“Hi birthday boy,” Steve says. “Sorry I couldn’t sing to you.”

Caribbean Coconut Fried Shrimp smiles, a little sheepishly. “I told them not to order the stupid cake,” he says.

“I should tell you that it’s fine for something, but honestly? I really wish that they hadn’t.”

Caribbean Coconut Fried Shrimp barks out a laugh. “Sorry, sorry,” he says. “They thought they were being cute.” He kind of shuffles his feet, looks down. “It’s my first birthday since getting sober. They wanted to do something fun, so they gave me the choice between Rainforest Café and Chuck-E-Cheese. I chose Rainforest Café.”

Steve feels himself soften a little. “Sorry that it turned out this way.”

“Well,” Caribbean Coconut Fried Shrimp says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his peacoat and looking up at Steve, “it was going pretty good until my friend Clint knocked over the cute server I wanted to ask out.”

Steve blinks. “What?” he asks.

“God,” Caribbean Coconut Fried Shrimp says, running a hand through his dark hair. “I feel like such an ass, but if you wanted to maybe—“

“Yeah,” Steve interrupts. “I do.”

Caribbean Coconut Fried Shrimp drops his hand and looks at Steve, surprised. “Really?”

Steve shrugs. “Can’t be much worse than being burned by a free dessert.”

“I think Natasha left you a really nice tip.”

“Good,” Steve says. “Then maybe I can get you a decent dessert.”

Caribbean Coconut Shrimp grins. “Yeah?” he asks.

Steve nods. “I’m Steve,” he says.

“Bucky,” Caribbean Coconut Shrimp replies.

“Happy birthday, Bucky,” Steve says.

“Well,” Bucky responds, “it is now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/158252925499/a-belated-bucky-birthday-prompt-steves-a-waiter)


	2. Spice Girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @pheylan13 asked: Are you talking about the AU prompts? Here - “We live next door to each other and I can see you through the window while you’re dancing to your iPod in your flannel pajamas and disheveled hair and God you’re a dork” AU. Because you’re fic is awesome and I might be the person seen through the window. Steve and Bucky, if it so pleases you.

Bucky always walks to his dorm on the south side of the building, even if it’s a little out of the way. He tries to tell himself it’s because the path is more scenic, and in one way, it is.

“ _SO TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT WHAT YOU REALLY REALLY WANT_ ,” he hears a voice yell.

Bucky smiles as he sneaks a peak through the window of the second room on the first floor of the south side dorm.

“ _I WANNA HA I WANNA HA I WANNA HA I WANNA HA…_ ”

Bucky smiles, watching the blond guy shake his hips, his flannel pajama bottoms sinking down on his thin hips. His eyes are shut behind his glasses, and his earbuds are in, which may be the reason why he so unselfconsciously belts hits by Britney Spears, Oasis, and today, The Spice Girls.

Bucky walks by this place as often as he can, but has only actually glimpsed the guy a half a dozen times. But he’s never disappointed. There’s something so candid and unbridled about the guy and his dancing, and it almost takes Bucky’s stress away just to watch. If it weren’t _completely_ creepy, he’d stay and watch for longer, not just glance.

It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t pause underneath the window to tie his shoe, just to take an extra few seconds at the guy’s window.

When he straightens back up, he takes one final look towards the window, and—

The guy’s eyes fly open and his cheeks go red. “Wh-what?” he stutters out, pulling his earbuds out. He doesn’t pause the music, and Bucky can hear its tinny noise still. He must’ve had that music on really, really loudly.

Part of Bucky wants to run, but he squares his shoulders and smiles. “That song’s my jam,” he says, and boy oh boy, he’s really channeling the nineties here.

The guy goes even redder. “You don’t gotta make fun of me, okay?”

Bucky takes a step closer, careful to avoid the bushes directly underneath the window. “I’m not, I swear,” Bucky says. “I _like_ your taste of music; it’s the same stuff I listen to when I’m havin’ a bad day.”

The guy looks up through his eyelashes, and Jesus. They’re long. “Really?”

Bucky nods. “I’m Bucky,” he says.

“Steve.”

Bucky smiles. “Wanna go out dancin’ with me sometime, Steve?”

“ _No_ , creepy stranger,” Steve says. Chagrined, Bucky takes a step back and readies an apology. “But,” Steve adds, looking down again. “Coffee, maybe? We could do that?”

Bucky has to bite down on his lip to keep himself from grinning. “Definitely, yeah, whenever,” he says. “I really really really wanna make you a cup.”

There’s a long pause.

“That was _terrible_ ,” Steve says, before he erupts into laughter.

And Bucky laughs along with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/154785140884/pheylan13-said-are-you-talking-about-the-au)


	3. Panty Raid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I asked to be prompted with quotes from Spongebob and got "Fine. I guess you're going to miss the panty raid."

“Steve Rogers, you’re _nasty_ ,” Sam says, shoving his t-shirt into his bag.

Steve shrugs, turning up his nose, smug. “Whatever Sam. You’re just a scaredy cat.”

Sam pauses, raising an eyebrow. “Scared? No. Sensible? _Yes_. Steve, unless you are breaking and entering, the only women whose—“ he makes air quotes around the next word, “—‘panties’ you’ll be raiding are Mrs. Barnes and Becca Barnes, and I am not the kind of guy who would go into his friend’s mother’s bedroom and sniff at her underwear because I am not _utterly depraved_.”

“Are you calling me depraved, Sam Wilson?” Steve asks.

Sam zips up his backpack. “Yes,” he says as he swings it over his shoulder. “I am. You and Bucky have fun being gross. I’m out.”

He storms out, nearly knocking Bucky over as he comes back to the room with a tray of snacks. “Sam?” Bucky calls.

“You’re _nasty_ ,” Sam calls back, flipping Bucky off as he keeps on going.

Bucky looks at Steve confused from the doorway. “What’d you do?” Bucky asks.

Steve shrugs. “Just Sam being Sam.” Bucky raises his eyebrow and Steve moves in a little closer. “But since we’re alone…” he says, pulling the tray from Bucky’s hands and setting it down on the floor. “Maybe I could see your panties?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/154102078264/fine-i-guess-youre-going-to-miss-the-panty)


	4. Furby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gorsewitch asked: “thats the third fucking toy you’ve played with and didn’t know how to turn off in my store pls don’t just try to awkwardly walk away i cAN SEE YOU” au pls my children are starving

“Good moooooooorning,” says Furby number three, as the other two that the guy woke-up gurgle and squawk and do all of the other annoying shit that Furbies tend to do.

And Steve has had enough of it.

He pops his head into the Furby aisle and see the guy in question holding a Furby intently as it gurgles.

“Excuse me, sir,” Steve says, “The Furbies all act the same. You don’t need to wake them all up.”

The guy looks over at Steve and. Well. He is very pretty, but has deep, dark circles beneath his eyes.

“What?” he asks, somewhere between deadpan and despair.

“They’re all the same. You don’t need to wake them up.” He doesn’t add, “it’s also nine o’clock and we’re about to close, so maybe you shouldn’t wake up the most annoying toys in the store all at once.”

“My god-daughter said they all have different personalities,” he says, looking back down at the cooing Furby in his hands. “She said I had to talk to every one.” He stares at the Furby, the corner of his mouth twitching, then looks up. “Natasha,” he says. “She put her up to this. She did this to me.”

Steve can’t help it. He laughs. “You didn’t know they’re the most annoying toy in the world?”

“No,” he says. “I don’t spend a lot of time researching toys. I don’t understand children. All I knew was that I was supposed to find a Furby who says, ‘What’s up, losers?’ when it wakes up, and saying it out loud makes it sound even more improbable than it already is.”

“Hey, I actually know this guy — a kind of computer genius. I bet he could hack that Furby for you, if you let me get in touch.”

The guy looks up, eyes going wide. “I love you,” he says.

“That’s kind of a second date thing.”

He grins. “I’m Bucky.

“Steve.”

“And you’re my special friend!” the Furby says.

Both Steve and Bucky grimace in tandem.

“Can we make it not say that?” Bucky asks.

“Sure,” Steve says. “Why not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/155281801554/thats-the-third-fucking-toy-youve-played-with)


	5. The Break-Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> iamadelicateflowergoddammit asked: Stucky “i’ve never met you before but i went to a huge party at your house with my significant other - who then proceeded to dump me” au!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This chapter features Brock Rumlow in a romantic relationship with Bucky where he displays verbal and mild physical abuse.

“Do you really think we’re gonna see him?” Bucky asks. “I’m just askin’ ‘cuz you go to shit sometimes and the person isn’t _actually_ —“

“Bucky, Jesus, would you _shut up_?” Brock snaps.

Bucky shuts his mouth. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Just excited.” He pokes at the little plate of appetizers that he picked up off a table that he overheard someone say once belonged to James Monroe. He’s not sure he believes the hype, but it’s kind of fun to think about.

Brock rolls his eyes. “Yeah, he’ll _be_ here, but maybe I don’t wanna talk to him, huh? You think of that? Spend all day every day looking at his ugly mug, have to come to these bullshit events because he saved a cat from a tree and the world wants to kiss his ass for it. Last thing I need is to come to his place and fawn over him with all these sycophants and then to have you join them.”

Now would probably be a terrible time for Bucky to mention the Captain America lunchbox he had as a kid.

“You invited me here,” Bucky finds himself saying.

“So what?” Brock asks.

“ _So_ , if you didn’t wanna come, you shouldn’t’ve invited me!” Brock just rolls his eyes. “Or you could pretend to have fun, or you could ask me to leave! I would, Brock. We could go get a pizza and go to that—“

“Shut up, Bucky. Jesus, you’re like a fucking _fly_ , buzzing around, never stopping.” A few people look over, wondering what’s happening, and Brock grabs his upper arm and drags him to the edge of the room. A few little bacon-wrapped scallops from Bucky’s plate go flying onto the suit of guy who Bucky assumes is an important politician. Normally, it’d make him laugh, but right now, he’s got more important things to worry about.

“Brock, stop,” Bucky says, struggling in Brock’s grip. But the problem with dating a guy who works for SHIELD is that they apparently have a very strong grip.

(Dating is a lose term. They’ve been out five times.)

He doesn’t stop until they’re at the side of the room. Brock takes a deep breath, shuts his eyes. “This won’t work,” he says.

“What?” Bucky asks.

“This. Whatever. I can’t date someone with a hero complex.”

Bucky’s heart sinks.

He didn’t think this was a love connection, but he thought it was… a connection. Something.

But he also doesn’t want to date someone who would drag him around like that.

“I’m gonna…” He swallows hard. “Go use the bathroom.”

“You do that.” He pauses, then adds, “Don’t find me after.”

Bucky nods, walks away, suddenly thankful that they were on the side of the room.

— —

When he finishes up in the bathroom, he hears cheering and loud noises from the party, and decides he can’t deal with it. Instead, he wanders.

Wandering through the government-sponsored mansion of an American hero probably isn’t the greatest idea in the world, but he’s a little shaken and a lot disappointed, so he can’t bring himself to care. He ends up on a balcony, looking out at DC, Capital Building in the near distance.

It’s a pretty good view.

He leans against the rail of the balcony and pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. They’re not actually his — Brock had given them and a lighter to Bucky when they got to the party, saying something about keeping the lines of his suit clean. It sounded like bullshit, but Bucky almost appreciates it.

He’s not a smoker, but he takes a cigarette out of the package and lights it.

He takes one drag, nearly coughs up a lung and puts it out on the balcony.

“Careful, that’s the property of the United States’ taxpayer.”

The surprise causes Bucky to sort of fling the cigarette off the balcony. Bucky watches with wide eyes as it falls down onto someone’s Rolls Royce. “Shit,” he mutters.

“Don’t worry, Senator Royce has eight others waiting in his garage.”

Bucky looks up and sees… “ _Shit_ ,” he mutters again, this time with feeling.

Captain America smiles. “You okay?” he asks.

Bucky nods. “Uh, yeah?” he says. “Why?”

“Saw you and Brock Rumlow chatting earlier. Didn’t look too friendly.”

God, Captain America is all broad and tall, and he’s looking at Bucky with these big, blue, concerned eyes that make Bucky want to sink in on himself.  “He just broke up with me.”

Captain America frowns. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“He said it was ‘cuz I was too excited to meet you.” Bucky chuckles. “Gotta say that I’m not really excited to meet you like this at all.”

Captain America raises an eyebrow. “Why’s that?”

“I’m kind of breakin’ into your house, and lookin’ like the most pathetic ass at this party, and you probably came up here to haul my uncredentialed ass outta here, so… I’ll save you the effort and just head on out.”

And then, something miraculous happens.

Captain America smiles.

“I’m Steve,” he says.

“Bucky.”

“Mind if I hang out a while?”

“No,” Bucky says. “Not at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/156109117199/stucky-ive-never-met-you-before-but-i-went-to-a)


	6. Pen Pals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked: from the aus to consider: "we live in different countries and got paired up as pen pals for a project for school" bc all my friends are long distance and i'm a sucker for pen pals. ps. i rlly love your fics but i am too Shy™ to come off anon

Dear Bucky,

 

How are you? My name is Steve. I’m nine and go to school in Brooklyn, New York. Why are you named Bucky? How is Indiana? My teacher says my letter has to be a page long, which is why I am asking so many questions. She also said I could not talk about the Dodger’s last game because you probably didn’t watch it. Can you read my handwriting? My mom says I don’t have good handwriting, which makes me sad. But I do spell really well. Do you speak other languages? I don’t. My mom can speak Spanish and I will start learning Spanish next year. Please write to me and soon. I am excited to talk to someone so far away!

 

Love,

Steve

 

**…**

 

Dear Steve,

 

Hi, I am good, thank you for asking. I’m Bucky and I live in Moscow, Russia. I am American but my dad works for the government and they moved us here two years ago. I don’t always like it in Russia. I used to live in Indiana. I didn’t watch the Dodgers game because my family roots for the Cubs. They lose a lot. I think you have fine handwriting. I also speak some Russian but not a lot. I mostly can ask questions about where the bathroom is. I have a cat named Milky. She’s white. Do you have any pets? I want to hear from you soon, even though we only had to write the one letter for class. Can you send me a picture? I sent you one of me by a museum in Russia.

 

Love,

Bucky

 

**…**

 

So that’s how it starts.

 

**…**

 

_Bucky_

_12:00 AM_

 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AMERICA!!!

 

_Me_

_12:00 AM_

 

Don’t you mean ‘have a very happy eighteenth birthday Steve, light of my life’?

 

_Bucky_

_12:01 AM_

 

No, I mean happy birthday America. Don’t put words in my mouth, Steve. We’ve been friends for nine years. You should know better.

 

_Me_

_12:03 AM_

 

Wow Buck. Thanks for ruining my birthday.

 

_Bucky_

_12:04 AM_

 

RUDE. I was just celebrating America’s birthday because that’s where I am. Right now.

 

_Me_

_12:04 AM_

 

???

 

_Me_

_12:05 AM_

 

Aren’t you in St. Petersburg?

 

_Bucky_

_12:07 AM_

 

Maybe you wanna come downstairs.

 

**…**

 

Steve jumps out of bed, legs tangled in his blankets. He nearly trips, but that doesn’t stop him. Steve takes the stairs two at a time, thundering down until he’s in the living room.

And there’s Bucky, standing next to Steve’s mom, beaming.

“Steve, look who’s here!” Sarah Rogers says, grinning as she gestures to Bucky. Her grin turns into a chuckle as she notices that her only son came downstairs in a pair of plaid boxers, a black tank top and bedhead. “Dear, you could’ve put on some pants,” she says.

Steve loves his mom, but he ignores her.

“Bucky?” he asks.

Bucky nods. He’s a little shorter than Steve expected him to be in person. It makes Steve grin.

“Hi Steve,” Bucky says. “Happy birthday.”

It takes Steve about three seconds to close the space between them and wrap Bucky in a huge hug, his leather jacket kind of cool against Steve’s skin.

Bucky chuckles, low and soft next to Steve’s ear. “It’s nice to meet you, too,” he says.

“I’ve known you forever, jerk,” Steve says, then pulls back a little, just to take Bucky in. “Hi,” he says.

And then Bucky leans in and presses a kiss to Steve’s lips. “Hi,” he whispers back.

Steve blinks a few times, surprised. “Buck?” he asks.

“I wanted to wait until I could see you in person,” Bucky says. “You, uh… right?”

“What?” Steve asks, starting to smile.

“Don’t make me say it.”

“You like me,” Steve says.

Bucky nods. “Yeah, I do.”

“I like you, too,” Steve says.

Bucky nods again. “Yeah,” he says. “You do.”

Sarah rolls her eyes. “Happy birthday Steve,” she says. “I’m going to bed.”

Bucky laughs, then looks over at her. “Thanks for getting me the ticket over here, Mrs. Rogers,” he says.

“It’s no problem. Now you two… have fun.”

Bucky laughs. “We will,” he says, looking back at Steve. His eyes go soft. “We will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/157422974189/from-the-aus-to-consider-we-live-in-different)


	7. Hot Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked: please! “i don’t want to go alone to my ex’s wedding and our mutual friend said you’re free that night” au

“Hot Bucky is free tomorrow night,” Clint says. “He texted me about getting hot wings five minutes ago.”

“Hot Bucky?” Steve asks, looking to Natasha for back-up.

Natasha rolls his eyes. “I met him in a bar. I was drunk. I put his name in my phone as Hot Bucky to help me remember who he was. Clint’s the one who never got over it.”

“Truthfully,” Clint says, “I say it because it’s true. He is _hot_.”

“As a hot wing?” Steve asks as he shoots off a text to Hot Bucky.

He gets blank stares.

“If you’re going to ask Hot Bucky to go to this wedding, you’re going to need to step up from dad jokes, Steve,” Clint says, slowly.

Hot Bucky says he’ll go, and Steve is already regretting it.

— —

Steve pulls up to Hot Bucky’s apartment in his eight year-old Corolla.

Hot Bucky is waiting for him outside in a suit.

“Oh no,” Steve says as Hot Bucky approaches. “He’s hot.”

Hot Bucky opens the door. “Hey,” he says, looking Steve over.

“Hi,” he says, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

Hot Bucky closes the door and looks at Steve again. “You’re Hot Steve in Clint’s phone,” Hot Bucky says. “But I didn’t realize that you were _this_ hot.”

Steve looks at Bucky.

Bucky looks at Steve.

They don’t make it to the wedding.

— —

Instead they get hot wings delivered to Bucky’s apartment and watch every James Bond movie with Jaws in it together.

And that’s how Hot Steve and Hot Bucky become Hot Steve _and_ Bucky, the Hot Couple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/157423537589/please-i-dont-want-to-go-alone-to-my-exs)


	8. Teacher's Pet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: i had a one night stand the night before i started a college class and WHOOPS I ACCIDENTALLY BANGED THE PROFESSOR” Please and thank you!!!!!!!! 
> 
> Note: This was originally one part, but then the awesome lisa-in-the-sky donated to the National Center for Transgender Equality and I wrote a sequel of the same length!

**Part I.**

“Just try,” Sam says, shoving Steve towards the bar.

“Sam!” Steve hisses, but it’s too late — he’s already bumped into the man he’s been ogling half the night.

The guy starts a little, dropping the book he’s been reading. “Sorry!” Steve manages.

“It’s alright,” the guy says, looking up. Then he looks _up_ , obviously checking Steve out. “Hey,” he says, voice sounding a little lower than it did before.

Steve can’t help it; he blushes. “Hi, uh, you’re alone?” he asks, and he can hear Sam snicker behind him.

The guy smiles, sort of leans back on his bar stool. “Mmm-hmmm,” he says, and Steve can’t stop staring at his plump lips. “Why, you want a drink?”

“If you’re not busy,” Steve says, looking at the book, which he can see now is heavily-annotated.

The guy seems to trace Steve’s gaze and shuts the book. “Just over-preparing. First classes start tomorrow.”

Steve nods, chuckles. “Oh, I know,” he says. It’s pretty much all he’s thought about since he decided to put that GI Bill to good use.

“I’m Bucky,” he says, reaching out a hand.

Steve takes it. His grip is firm and… lingering.

“Steve,” he says.

Bucky smiles again. “I’ve got good drinks over at my place, if you’re—“

“Yes,” Steve says. “Let’s go.”

— —

“Jesus,” Bucky says, rolling over the next morning. His hair is a goddamn mess, and Steve’s pretty proud to have made it that way.

Steve yawns, stretches. His nerves have dissipated somewhat, thanks to Bucky and his amazing hands.

“Mornin’,” Bucky says, looking over at Steve and smiling.

“Hi,” Steve says, unable to keep the dumb smile off his face.

They look at each other for a few moments, just soaking each other in. They hadn’t had much time for conversation last night, but Steve had fun. He can already tell that Bucky has a great sense of humor, and he’s obviously incredible in bed, and Steve _really_ wants Bucky to ask him for his number.

Bucky sighs. “I hate to lose the view, but I gotta get ready for my class.”

“What time is it?” Steve asks.

“Quarter to eight,” Bucky says.

Steve nods. “Same.” He’ll have just enough time to get home, change, and get to class. Not enough time to worry about anything.

“You busy tonight?” Bucky asks, then ducks his head. “I know it’s a little overeager but I’d like to actually take you on a date.”

“I’m free,” Steve says. “Very free.”

Bucky looks back up and smiles. “Meet me here at seven?”

Steve nods. “Yeah,” he says. “I will.”

— —

Maybe it was naive of Steve to think that he wouldn’t actually see Bucky again until that night.

— —

“I can’t believe the front row was already taken when we got here,” says one young woman as she slips into the seat in front of Steve. They’re in a relatively small lecture hall, but it had also surprised Steve that the entire front row was taken, even despite him getting there ten minutes early.

The girl next to her sighs. “I know. The one class with a decent view and we’re stuck in the third row.”

“Jesus, Prof is dreamy. This is my fourth class with him and I’m not even a history major.”

The other girl laughs. “He’s _why_ I’m a history major,” she says.

Steve wants to laugh, but keeps it to himself. Maybe he would be a little more excited about the prospect of a dreamy professor if he were a little younger, but he’s older now. More mature. Crushing on the professor seems like a cute thing to do when you’re young, though, and he can’t blame the women (or apparently the entire front row) for having a little fun.

He readies his computer and focuses on preparing a Word document. He doesn’t even notice that the professor entered the room until he’s standing at the podium and starting to speak.

In a very familiar voice.

“Welcome to the History of World War II. I’m Professor Barnes, your sergeant for the rest of the semester—“ While the rest of the class giggles Steve feels the blood drain from his face. “And I…” Professor Barnes — _Bucky_ — looks up and locks eyes with Steve. “ _Steve_?” he chokes out and the class all swivel their heads, trying to find whoever it is Steve is.

Steve sinks down in his seat.

It’s going to be a long semester.

— —

**Part II.**

— —

“Oh my God,” Bucky moans the moment Steve shuts the office door. “Why didn’t you _tell_ me you were a _student_?”

“I didn’t think I had to?” Steve says, leaning against the wall of the cramped office. Bucky flops into a comfortable-looking chair behind a desk covered in books and papers. Steve sees an old mug of coffee sitting on the desk, looking sludgy and a little gross. “How often do you actually use this office?”

“I don’t have office hours over the summer, and _don’t dodge my question, Steve_ ,” Bucky says.

“I _answered_ your question!” Steve says, starting to lose his patience.

Bucky nods, sighs, shuts his eyes. “Fine, you’re right, you’re _right_ ,” he repeats, and then opens them to look at Steve again. “And I don’t say that mildly — I’m an academic. I hate being wrong.”

Steve can’t help it — he cracks a smile. He decides to give Bucky a break. “I’m what they call a returning student, I guess. Two tours in Iraq. I’m back in school for the first time in a while.”

Bucky nods. “That is… incredibly reasonable, and hey, thanks for your service.”

“No problem,” Steve says with a chuckle. “I thought you were a PhD student or something. You seem to be a little young to be a professor. It hadn’t crossed my mind.” Bucky frowns. It’s kind of cute. “You tenured?” Steve asks. Bucky shoots him an unimpressed look. “So I’ll take that as a no?”

Bucky mutters, “I don’t see how that’s _relevant_ ,” which really only grants credence to the impression that he does not, in fact, have tenure.

“Well, you could probably get away with it if you had tenure,” Steve says.

Bucky glares. “Ha.” He bites his bottom lip. “So, you should probably drop this class.”

“But I heard such good things about the professor,” Steve says.

Bucky perks up. “Yeah?” he asks, feigning nonchalance. “Like what?”

Steve could laugh at how interested in. Maybe he likes compliments, and—

And Steve doesn’t want to go there. It’s not like this can really be a thing, right?

“Well,” Steve says, taking a step closer, even despite his reservations. “I looked at your Rate My Professor page before I signed up for the class.”

“Did you now?” Bucky asks.

“Mmm-hmmm,” Steve says. “You know the hotness rating?” Bucky nods. “Full points.”

“But what did they say about my grading style?” Bucky asks, and Steve grins.

“And the women sitting in front of me—“

“Paulette and Aya?” Bucky asks.

“Sure,” Steve says. “They—“

“No, no, no,” Bucky interrupts, laughing and waving his hands in front of him. “Aya is one of my advisees, and I need to be able to talk about future class selection without blushing.” He drops his hands. “So?” he asks.

“So what?” Steve says.

“So, are you dropping the class?” Bucky asks, like somehow Steve had gotten lost in the conversation.

Steve frowns, slowly walks to the other side of the desk until he’s hovering over Bucky. “Well,” he says. “I _really_ wanted to take the class.”

“Yeah, well, I really want you to take your—“

He stops, wide-eyed and groans. “See, I can’t say something like that until you go to the registrar’s office _and drop my fucking class_.”

“And if I do, what will _you_ do?”

Bucky bites his lip, pausing for a long second. “Take you on that date,” he says. “Which is something that I’d really like to do.”

He’s nervous, Steve realizes.

So, fuck it.

“How’s Professor Willhampton?” he asks.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Why, you wanna sleep with him, too?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “ _No_. He’s teaching the class on Vietnam this semester.”

Bucky leans back in his chair. “You’re not taking that class.”

“Why’s that?”

“I think Willhampton got tenured _during_ Vietnam. He’s old, he’s rude, and he has a slew of campus newspaper editorials about what a shitty person he is. _And_ his class is a seminar. I don’t care how fast a learner you are; if you’re a first-year, you’re gonna start with an introductory course, maybe a 200-level if you’re feeling particularly frisky. Don’t want you to get in over your head.”

“Yeah, we’d hate that,” Steve mutters.

“So if you want an American history course, you’ll take the United States in the Western Hemisphere with Professor Wang or Westward Expansion with Professor—“

“Hey,” Steve interrupts.

“Huh?” Bucky asks, startled out of his speech. “What?”

“I like you,” Steve says. Bucky smiles. “Wanna walk me to the registrar’s office?”

“Sure thing,” Bucky says, and before Steve realizes what’s happening, Bucky pops out of his chair and is kissing him. He pulls back a moment later, smiling. “Some incentive,” he says.

“A-,” Steve says.

“What?” Bucky asks.

“Pretty good, but room for improvement.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning. “C’mon, teacher’s pet. We can change your schedule and grab something to eat.”

“Perfect,” Steve says.

“Yeah,” Bucky responds. “Perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/157723654229/for-the-prompt-post-i-was-hitchhiking-and-you)


	9. Brooklyn and I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 0n-y0ur-left asked: Omg the last one for the break up au prompts. Give me Stucky dog break up/makeup HC goodness 

Brooklyn walks slower nowadays. If the vet is to be believed, she won’t be walking at all soon enough. When that day comes, Steve will carry her, or get a wagon, or maybe one of those dog strollers that he’s seen ads for online.

But for now, he just enjoys their leisurely stroll through the park together. It’s a sunny day, one of the first warm days of winter, not quite spring, and Steve is glad that Brooklyn is here for this, glad that they both survived the winter together. He smiles down at her, and she looks up at him with her long brown snout. She’s a mutt, through and through, brown and white with floppy ears. They’ve been together since she was two and he was twenty. Now she’s twelve, he’s thirty, and not a whole lot has changed.

Well, except one thing, but Steve tries not to think about him too often.

“C’mon girl,” Steve says, gently pulling Brooklyn away from a plastic bag on the side of the sidewalk. A few years ago she would’ve put up a fight. Now she just lets Steve guide her away. “That’s a good girl,” he says, pulling a treat from his pocket and giving it to her anyway. “Yeah, there you go,” he says, giving her a few pats on the neck. “There we—“

Brooklyn straightens up, goes to attention, then starts running. “Brooklyn!” Steve yells, flopping along after her. “Heel, Brooklyn! Heel!”

And then he sees who she’s running to.

“Brooklyn!” he cries, trying to get her to stop, but she won’t. It’s either let go of her leash or tackle her, and she is far too delicate to tackle.

Or follow her along to where Bucky Barnes is standing, watching them like a deer in the headlights.

Brooklyn woofs and jumps up onto Bucky’s legs. Bucky stumbles a little under her weight. “Hey girlie,” he says, with a nervous laugh. “Been a while since I’ve seen ya.” He strokes her once then looks up at Steve. He adds, quietly, “Hey Steve.”

“Hi,” Steve says, trying to keep his voice steady.

Bucky looks back down at Brooklyn and starts talking to her in that sweet way he always did, asking her how she is and whether she’s had any good treats lately.

Steve tries to breathe, because the last time he saw Bucky he was screaming at him, telling him he’d never stay with a cheater, and throwing him out of his apartment after they’d been together five years. Two weeks after that he found out that he’d been lied to, that Brock Rumlow had manufactured all of the drama, and that Steve had fallen for it. He’d had too much pride, been too embarrassed to go crawling back to Bucky like he should’ve. Steve had just spent days staring at his phone, wishing he hadn’t deleted Bucky’s number. Now, over a year later, here Bucky is.

“Missed you, baby girl,” Bucky says, crouching and scratching behind Brooklyn’s ears as she sits, open-mouthed, looking happier than Steve’s seen her in ages.

“Unlike some people?” Steve finds himself asking, dreading the answer.

Bucky looks up briefly, just enough to make eye contact with Steve, then back down at Brooklyn. “Not necessarily,” he says. He presses another kiss to Brooklyn’s head, then stands back up. Bucky clears his throat, then looks back at Steve. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to stop you two on your walk.”

“It’s her fault,” Steve says, trying to smile.

Bucky smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Steve’s heart aches. “I, uh, won’t come around this park again, so you can—“

“Don’t,” Steve says, voice cracking. “Don’t say that.” Bucky doesn’t respond, just frowns. Brooklyn is still sitting at his feet, crying, trying to get his attention. “You don’t have to change your life just because I fucked everything up.”

“Buddy, if you think I haven’t been avoiding all of the places you frequent for the past year, you’re wrong.”

“I know you have,” Steve says. “I know you’ve been avoiding me because I’ve been looking for you.” He feels tears well up in his eyes. He looks down to Brooklyn. “So has she. She misses you; I can tell. She still sits at the bedroom door in the mornings, thinking you’ll…” He trails off, wipes a few stray tears off his cheeks. Brooklyn must realize that he’s upset, because she moves back to Steve, sitting on his feet and nudging his leg with her face. Steve reaches down and gives her a pat. “I miss you,” Steve says.

Bucky nods. “Maybe…” he says, then clears his throat again. “Maybe I could tag along with you on the rest of this walk?” Bucky asks. “Seems like we have a lot we could talk about, Brooklyn and I.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/158290282894/omg-the-last-one-for-the-break-up-au-prompts)


	10. Turtleneck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: If you're taking prompts from that angst list, could I request “look, i know we agreed to be friends and everything but that’s what everyone says when they break up. i can’t take you asking me for advice on how to ask out the new person you’re interested in, okay? it’s killing me” With stucky? :) Or really any of them. Your writing is awesome, it'd be fun to read whatever you choose! :)

Everyone breaks up at the end of senior year. It’s just a thing that happens. In fact, he and Steve were smart about it — they broke up at the beginning of summer so they could be over the initial heartbreak before school, so they could enjoy the first few weeks. And sure, it was tough spending the summer knowing Steve was a few blocks away and not being able to climb up the fire escape and drink frosty root beers, but as the summer progressed they started texting again, and had even gone to get coffee together the week before Bucky was set to move to Northwestern.

Now it’s almost Halloween and they’re talk each other almost like they used to.

And Bucky is over him. He swears.

“Texting your boyfriend?” Wanda asks over a lunch of cafeteria burgers and fries on October 30th.

“Not my boyfriend,” Bucky corrects as he types out ‘LOL’ to Steve.

“But it’s him, right?” Wanda asks.

Bucky glares at her over his phone.

“And that’s all the answer I needed,” Wanda says, stealing a fry from Bucky’s plate.

“You have your own!” Bucky says.

She dips the fry in ketchup. “Yeah, but yours are crispier,” she says.

Bucky rolls his eyes and then his phone starts ringing. Confused, Bucky looks down and sees the picture of Steve sitting in the branches of a tree that Bucky took the summer before their junior year. Bucky swallows hard. He probably just butt-dialed him. It’s probably just a mistake.

Bucky’s going to answer it anyway.

“Sorry,” he says to Wanda as he stands up. “I gotta take this.”

“Enjoy talking to your boyfriend. I’m going to eat your fries.”

“There better be a fresh plate here when I’m done,” Bucky says, then answers. “Hullo?”

“Hey Bucky,” Steve says, and that pain in his chest is totally normal, right? It’s just how you should react when you hear your friend’s voice for the first time in months.

“Hey, uh, Steve. Thought you were butt dialin’ me or somethin’.”

Steve laughs, low and throaty, and if Bucky weren’t maneuvering through a crowded cafeteria, he’d close his eyes and focus on taking it in. “Nope, I just… I have something going on, and I want to talk about it. Can we chat?”

“Of course,” Bucky says. “Whatever you need, Steve.” His throat’s closing up for no reason, none at all.

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve says. Bucky finally gets outside to where it’s quiet. “It’s just, I’ve always talked to you about this kind of stuff and it feels weird talking about it with anyone else, so… I’ve just been wanting to talk to you about it.”

Bucky bites down on his bottom lip. “What kinda stuff, Steve? You okay?” Bucky asks, suddenly worried.

“Yeah!” Steve says, “Yeah, I’m fine, I’m just… There’s this party tomorrow night, a Halloween party and there’s… well, there’s this guy.”

Bucky swallows.

Is this how it felt when the dinosaurs saw that meteor up in the sky, unable to do a thing before it killed them all? Because all at once it feels like the world is ending.

“A guy?” Bucky manages to say.

“Yeah, he’s… He’s a junior. I met him in an art history class. And he’s… really great, actually. I dunno, I haven’t felt like this in… Well, he asked if I’d be at this party tomorrow night and I’m just nervous in a way that I haven’t been in a long time.”

“Don’t worry, Steve,” Bucky says, “I’m sure he’ll love you.”

The ‘like I do’ is implied.

— —

Bucky forgot how fucking horrible New York is on Halloween.

“Can’t believe I’m doin’ this,” he mumbles as he dodges drunk NYU students dressed in culturally appropriative costumes on his way into apartment 602. He gets in with no difficulty and starts the processes of scanning the crowd. Steve usually stands out, but it’s Halloween and knowing Steve he’s probably in some awful, obscure costume that no one understands.

And then he hears some guy say, “Are you listening to me, Steve? Jesus, why would you hide your body in that turtleneck?” and Bucky knows that Steve recycled last year’s Andy Warhol costume.

It’s easy to spot the white wig and the creep hovering next to Steve. Bucky pushes his way through a small throb of gyrating people with all the adrenaline of draining his bank account for a plane ticket to New York just on the off-chance he can win his ex-boyfriend back.

Which just so happens to be the situation.

“Anyhow,” the creep says. “Maybe we should go back to your place and we can take that turtleneck off, huh?”

“I’m not…” Steve starts then seems to see Bucky a few steps away. “Buck?” he asks.

“Steve!” Bucky says, finally getting to him. “Who’s this?” creep asks. Bucky ignores him.

“Bucky, why’re you here?” Steve asks.

“Because it’s really fuckin’ rude to ask your ex who is obviously still hung up on you about some new guy. What the fuck, Steven? Your mother raised you better than that!”

Steve looks stunned and silly in his white wig and all-black ensemble. “I’m… I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

“Didn’t think?” Bucky asks.

Steve barks out a laugh. “Yes!” he says. “I didn’t.”

“That’s why you need me,” Bucky says. “Someone’s gotta do the thinkin’.” He pauses, suddenly self-conscious after his big speech. “I mean, if you want to. Think. Be with me. That sort of thing.”

And that’s when Steve starts grinning. “Yes,” he says, emphatic. “Yes, Jesus. Bucky, I missed you. I love you.”

It takes them about four seconds until they’re grabbing at each other, kissing, and knocking Steve’s wig off. Bucky hears the creep mutter, “What the _fuck_?” but he doesn’t care.

He’s here. With Steve. And that’s how it should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/158296683444/if-youre-taking-prompts-from-that-angst-list)


	11. The Price of Salt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lisa-in-the-sky asked: I'M HAVING THE WORST DAY so I would lovvvve to read stucky "it's 2am and I'm drunk and need salt for my fries and I know you're awake so OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR" 

“You need _what_?” Steve asks the handsome man who has lived across the hall for three weeks.

“Salt,” the man says, holding a soggy McDonald’s bag in one hand and a flashlight in the other. He is tearing up. “I need salt.”

“Why?” Steve asks.

“To exorcise demons,” the man says, then winces. “No, that sounded so much cooler in my head, but I can’t lie to you. I have all of these french fries but none of them are salty. I need salt for them, or else the world may end.” He pauses, then amends, " _My_  world may end.”

Steve gives him a once-over. The guy from across the hall is typically put-together. Steve has only ever seen him in a suit, with his hair slicked back. Now, he’s stubbled, wearing a t-shirt so worn that Steve can practically see his nipples through it, and a leather jacket. He also smells like a brewery.

Honestly? Steve kind of likes him better this way.

“How many fries will you give me?”

The man’s eyes go wide, like this question has caused him actual thought and, frankly, hurt. He groans. “Five!” he shouts. Steve holds back a laugh. “I will give you five french fries in exchange for your salt.”

“Ten,” Steve counters.

The man’s mouth opens, like he genuinely cannot believe that Steve would have the audacity to ask this of him. Steve can barely restrain his laughter. Then he shuts it, straightens up, and nods with firm resolve. “Fine,” he says, “but only because they are getting cold.”

“‘Course,” Steve says, then opens the door wider. “C’mon in.”

He’d feel more self-conscious about the way his apartment looked if he thought that the guy from across the hall would remember this in the morning. As it is right now, he doesn’t feel self-conscious in the least, and is actually sort of excited for his fries.

“So what’s the occasion?” Steve asks. “Why all the fries?”

“My fiancé dumped me for a secret agent.”

Admittedly, that wasn’t what Steve was expecting. “Sit,” he says, pointing to the couch. The guy from across the hall sits. “I’m Bucky,” he says, then adds with wide eyes, “and I’m really sad.”

“I’m Steve,” Steve says, “and I’ll get the salt.”

“Thank you,” Bucky says, then starts to cry.

— —

The next morning, there’s a knock on the door.

Steve opens it, blurry-eyed and tired. “Hi,” he says, when he sees it’s Bucky. “You feeling okay?”

“No,” Bucky says, “but I brought you a present.”

“What?” Steve asks.

Bucky holds out a cylinder of Morton’s salt with a red bow on top. “I’m sorry for last night,” he says.

Steve can’t help but smile as he takes the salt. “It wasn’t a problem, really. Made my night a lot more interesting.”

Bucky looks down, straightens out his shirt. “You’re really chill,” he says. “And I know I’m a mess, but I appreciate you letting me into your apartment and everything.”

“We could do it again the next time you have a break down,” Steve suggests, then adds, “or whenever, really.”

Bucky looks up. “Yeah?” he asks, looking kind of cute and shy beneath long lashes.

Steve shrugs. “Sure,” he says. Then, “But the fry tax goes up if you’re in a good mood. I’ll need my own order.”

Bucky groans, Steve laughs, and together, they empty that new container of salt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/158612203864/im-having-the-worst-day-so-i-would-lovvvve-to)


	12. Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> brandnewsoundsinmymind asked: Oh my god yes. Enemies to friends to loves is my all time favourite trope i am so here for this i love it. Can I ask for "Just got caught under the mistletoe with my arch-nemesis and now everything is slow changing between us AU"? Pretty please? ilu goodbye

“Move it,” Steve says, trying to shove past Bucky from Marketing.

“Jeez,” Bucky from Marketing says. “The eggnog will keep.”

Steve shoots Bucky from Marketing a look over his glasses. “You’re standing in the middle of the doorway,” he says. “You’ve _been_ standing in the middle of the doorway for eight minutes.”

“That’s an exaggeration,” Bucky from Marketing mutters.

“ _And_ ,” Steve continues, refusing to be silenced, “I’ve been trying to get by but you’ve been ignoring me.”

“So go by,” Bucky from Marketing says, rolling his eyes.

“You. Are. In. The. Way.” Steve spits.

“I. Am. Not. Moving.” Bucky from Marketing responds, in turn.

“ _Fine_ ,” Steve says, pushing again, which would probably be more effective if Steve weren’t barely hitting five-four and if Bucky from Marketing didn’t work out so much (which Steve only knows because he comes into work with his sweaty gym bag).

And that’s when he hears Darcy from Accounting go, “OOOOOOOOOH.” He looks up, but it’s too late. Half the party is looking at him and Bucky from Marketing. “We got two losers underneath the mistletoe!”

Steve looks up at Bucky from Marketing, who is looking down at him and…

Is blushing. Like, a lot.

Bucky from Marketing’s jaw twitches. “Can it, Darcy,” he says, eyes darting over to Darcy from Accounting, then back down to Steve. “So, uh, you, uh…”

He’s a stuttering mess, and Steve frowns. “Is the idea of kissing me really _that_ bad?” he asks.

“What?” Bucky from Marketing asks, voice cracking a little. “No!”

“Then kiss me,” Steve says, putting a hand on his hip. “I mean, having this mistletoe at an office party is a _ridiculous_ notion, but whatever. It’s fine. Kiss me.”

Bucky from Marketing just sort of gapes.

“Fine,” Steve says, “then I’ll do it.”

And then he goes up on his tiptoes and does.

Bucky from Marketing is tense, so Steve doesn’t make a big deal out of it. He kisses him, waits a few seconds, then pulls away. “There,” he says. “Hope that wasn’t too painful for you.”

“No, not… It wasn’t painful, not at all! But I, uh, gotta, uh, I gotta go over there,” Bucky from Marketing says, then practically leaps out of the doorway and towards Natasha from Sales at the other end of the room.

“The fuck?” Steve asks.

Darcy from Accounting saunters up to Steve and gives him a high-five. “Hell yeah,” she says. “Look at you!”

“Uh, thanks?” Steve says.

“So, are you in love? Are you gonna get married? Have little Barnes-Rogerses bouncing around the living room?” she asks.

“Don’t think so,” Steve says. “He didn’t seem too interested.”

Darcy from Accounting raises an eyebrow and chuckles. “You’re joking, right?” she asks. Steve doesn’t bother responding, just gives her an impressed look. “He’s been pining after you since last quarter, maybe even before that. I think he was waiting under there in the hopes that you’d come by and he could sweep you off your tiny, Chuck Taylor-clad feet.”

“You’re joking,” Steve says.

She shrugs. “Better ask him,” she says in a sing-song voice.

Out of morbid curiosity, Steve looks over to where Bucky from Marketing and Natasha from Sales are standing, talking to each other with a sort of intense, quiet urgency. He watches them for a second, then nearly flinches when Bucky from Marketing looks his way. He’s still blushing.

Normally, Steve would look away, but this time he doesn’t. Instead, he smiles.

Looking almost confused, Bucky from Marketing smiles back.

“Well,” Steve says, “I guess I could use someone to get me a glass of eggnog, and Bucky _is_ standing close to the buffet.”

“That’s the spirit,” Darcy from Accounting says. “And a true Christmas miracle.”

“I’m an atheist,” Steve says.

“It’s the spirit of the thing!” Darcy from Accounting argues.

“Fine,” Steve says, heading towards the eggnog and Bucky from Mar—

And Bucky Barnes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/159087786864/oh-my-god-yes-enemies-to-friends-to-loves-is-my)


	13. A Tale of Woe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: ‘Romeo and Juliet of the math and english dept. in school’ AU please !!

“O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name,” Mr. Rogers says, and about half the class sighs dreamily. He looks up from his book. “Can anyone tell me what ‘wherefore’ means in this context?” He looks at the array of hands that shoot up in the air. “Wanda?”

“It means ‘why’,” she says.

“Exactly. So she’s asking… anyone?”

“She’s asking why he has to be a Montague, versus any other family,” says a voice from the doorway.

Mr. Rogers looks up and smiles. “Right you are, Mr. Barnes. To what do we owe the honor?” He runs a hand through his thick hair and pushes his thick black glasses up on his nose, and a few members of the class shoot each other knowing looks.

“You forgot your dongle in my classroom last night,” Mr. Barnes says. There’s a chorus of ‘ooooohs’ from the students and Mr. Barnes shoots them a look as Mr. Rogers rolls his eyes. “It’s a computer part,” he says, holding it up for the class to observe.

“Nasty,” Tony Stark says from the back.

“Tony,” Mr. Rogers says, sharp.

“Oooh, you’re in the shit,” Clint whispers to Tony, who just rolls his eyes.

Mr. Rogers walks across the room to Mr. Barnes and takes the dongle with a smile. “Thanks for bringing it back,” he says.

“Not a problem,” Mr. Barnes responds, then gives Mr. Rogers a friendly nudge on the arm. “But maybe keep better track of your stuff, okay? You’re always leaving things in my classroom after practice.”

Mr. Rogers bites his lip and nods. “Sorry about that.”

“Nah, nothing you gotta apologize for. But I should quit interrupting your class and get going.”

“Okay. See you later,” Mr. Rogers says, and watches Mr. Barnes back out of the room and shut the door with such a look of pure, simple longing that it’s almost embarrassing to look.

“Oh. My. God.” Clint says to Tony. “He’s into him?”

“Duh,” Tony says as he picks at the edge of his worksheet. “You should see them during Scholastic Bowl practice. It’s gratuitous and disgusting.”

“Huh,” Clint says, looking up to Mr. Rogers, who is now blushing as he tries to move on with the lecture. “That’s funny.”

“Here,” Tony says, shoving the paper at Clint, “we wrote this after practice yesterday. The syllabic structure’s pretty mediocre but we had some fun.”

Clint reads:

> _Mr. Barnes & Mr. Rogers: A Nerdy Tragedy_
> 
> _Two departments, both alike in dignity_
> 
> _In fair high school, where we lay our scene,_
> 
> _From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,_
> 
> _Where class budgets make tenured staff ill at-ease._
> 
> _From forth the fatal loins of these two foes_
> 
> _A pair of star-cross’d lovers coach the team;_
> 
> _Whose misadventures piteous overthrows_
> 
> _Do with their love bury their departments’ strife._
> 
> _The fearful passage of their nerd-mark’d love,_
> 
> _And the continuance of their departments’ rage,_
> 
> _Which, but their teacher’s love, nought could remove,_
> 
> _Is now the two hours’ traffic of our Scholastic Bowl meet;_
> 
> _The which if you with patient ears attend,_
> 
> _What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend._

“Passing notes?” Clint nearly jumps out of his seat and sees Mr. Rogers standing in front of him, eyebrow raised. Before Clint can come up with an answer, Mr. Rogers takes the paper from his hands and starts to read. Clint looks to Tony, who looks at Clint with wide eyes. They both look up at Mr. Rogers who is turning redder by the moment. Mr. Rogers looks up at them, then quickly back down to the paper, and back up at them. He clears his throat. “I’ll be throwing this out,” he says, shoving the paper into the pocket of his blazer and walking away.

“He’s gonna read that to Mr. Barnes tonight while they bang,” Tony whispers into Clint’s ear.

Clint bursts out laughing, and ends up with detention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/159436842304/romeo-and-juliet-of-the-math-and-english-dept-in)


	14. 365

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> poedamerom asked: "I work as a florist and every day you walk in , buy one flower and give it to me" AU because yesterday I realised you were one of my favorite stucky writers!

Steve meets Bucky Barnes on Valentine’s Day, because God has a particularly cruel sense of humor.

— —

“You’re charging /how much/ for roses?” the man — later revealed as Bucky Barnes — asks.

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Steve says as an explanation, then sighs as he rings the man up on the cash register. “Don’t worry, your sweetheart will like them anyway.”

The man snorts.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Not for my sweetheart, for my sister. She’s in high school, and this asshole guy’d been leading her on for months, and all we could do was watch while she pined after this little fuck. Meanwhile, this guy’s having her edit his essays, drive him places… You know, the shit that asshole high school guys do when they’re going on a power trip. Anyhow, yesterday he asks out this girl right in front of my sister, asks her if she’s happy for him, which of course she’s not. She gets home, my mom calls me, and we hang out and watch rom coms together, and that’s when we come up with the plan.”

“The plan?” Steve asks, leaning in a little closer.

The guy smiles, almost sheepishly. “Her math teacher is a friend of mine from undergrad, so I call him up. These flowers, a few cards, and a big ol’ box of chocolates are gonna be on her desk.”

“Lemme guess, the asshole sits next to her?”

He grins. “Indeed, he does.”

“She’s in on it, right?”

He nods. “‘Course, it’d be weird if she wasn’t. She’s gonna tell everyone that they’re from her overnight camp boyfriend or something, who has been begging to get back together with her. I dunno, she’s got the whole thing set up, but she promises me that it’s gonna make this jack ass jealous, and that’s the important thing.”

Steve laughs. “Yeah, it is,” he says. “Bet your girlfriend is jealous, too,” Steve asks, and okay. He’s fishing a bit.

The guy raises an eyebrow. “Actually, I’m single right now,” he says. “I’ve got all these grand romantic gestures stored up with no outlet. It’s a real problem.”

“What a problem to have,” Steve says. “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten flowers on Valentine’s Day, in any context. And that’ll be $42.88.”

“Ouch,” the guy says as he inserts his debit card into the chip reader. “I’m Bucky, by the way.”

“Steve,” Steve says, then adds, “but you probably could’ve gathered that from the name tag.”

Bucky chuckles. “Thanks Steve,” he says as he takes his card out and puts it in his wallet.

“No problem,” Steve says, handing the flowers over to Bucky. “And good luck with your grand gesture.”

“Thanks,” he says, taking the flowers. He pauses, and pulls a rose out of the bunch. “Here,” he says, handing it to Steve.

“What?” Steve asks.

Bucky moves it a little closer to Steve. “A flower. Happy Valentine’s Day, Steve.”

“Oh, uh…” Steve says, taking it. “Thanks,” he says, a little lost for words.

“You’re welcome,” Bucky says. “Though it’s not quite a grand romantic gesture.”

Steve shrugs, trying not to blush. “It’s sweet,” he says.

Bucky just smiles and leaves the store.

— —

He comes back in the next day. “One tulip,” he says, bringing a yellow tulip up to the counter.

“Sure thing,” Steve says, then asks, “How’d the gesture go?”

“Perfectly,” Bucky says. “By the end of the day, he was telling her that he regretted everything, and she was telling him that she’s too good for him.”

Steve can’t help but smile. “Good to know, and that’s $4.21.”

Bucky pays with his debit card. “Yeah, gotta focus my energies elsewhere now,” he says.

“Good luck with that,” Steve says, handing him the flower.

“Thanks,” Bucky says, then hands the tulip back to Steve. “Enjoy the flower!” he says, before leaving the store.

Steve stands there, eyebrows furrowed, looking at the flower in his hand. “What?” he mutters to himself.

— —

It keeps happening.

Bucky comes in, he buys a flower — a different one every day — and hands it to Steve. If he doesn’t come in, he orders one online with the direction “give to Steve, please.”

“This is ridiculous,” Steve says after a month.

“I’m supporting a local, independently-run business,” Bucky responds as he hands Steve an amaryllis. “It’s the right thing to do.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Steve amends, but he takes the flower anyway.

— —

He’s started keeping them in his apartment as a mismatched, ever-changing arrangement. When a flower starts to wilt, he presses one of the petals and keeps it in a little book.

He sort of loves it.

He also sort of loves Bucky, but that’s a different story.

— —

They get to know each other, even though they just talk for a few minutes a day. Bucky is an architect who lives a few blocks away and passes by the flower shop on the way to work. He spends a lot of time with his mom and his sister (his dad isn’t in the picture), and he likes cheesy movies but not cheese — he’s lactose intolerant.

“We have that in common,” Steve says.

“Then it’s a good thing that I’m giving you flowers and not chocolates,” Bucky says as he hands him a peony.

Steve takes it and gives it a sniff. He really does like the smell of peonies. “What’s your endgame here?” Steve asks. “It’s been four months.”

Bucky shrugs, smiling. “Dunno,” he says. “I honestly don’t. I just wanted you to have fun.” He pauses and shoves his hands in his pockets. “If it gets annoying—“

“It’s not,” Steve says, too quickly. “It’s not annoying,” he says.

Bucky looks up, smiling. “Alright then,” he says.

“See you tomorrow?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods. “See you tomorrow.”

— —

When Bucky walks into the shop on Valentine’s Day, his face lights up.

“Steve?” he asks, looking at the flower arrangement in the middle of the shop and the accompanying valentine, made from the dried petals of 365 flowers.

“I thought you could use a gesture,” Steve says. “And a date for tonight?” he adds on, hopeful.

“Are these…?” Bucky asks.

“The flowers, I saved a petal from each one.”

“Oh my God,” Bucky says, looking down and biting his bottom lip. “I’m gonna have to step up my game if we’re gonna start going out,” he says.

“So that’s a yes?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods. “Yeah,” he says. “That’s a yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/159475580939/i-work-as-a-florist-and-every-day-you-walk-in)


	15. Bad Traffic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Hey! From that huge au list that you said you were accepting prompts on, could you possibly do stucky, the "I hit you with my car and I'm the only one who visited at the hospital, you okay?" with steve being the one hit by the car? It's a sick day for me and it feels like I've exhausted all good fanfiction... you're my only hope!

“Which flower arrangement says ‘I’m very sorry for running you over in my car’?” Bucky asks into his phone, frantically looking between an arrangement with tulips and an orchid.

There’s a long pause, then Natasha asks very level, very calm, “James?”

“Yes?”

“What did you do?” she asks in that same, calm voice.

“I RAN SOMEONE OVER WITH MY _CAR_ ,” Bucky yells. “I JUST SAID THAT.”

“Excuse me sir,” says the little old woman shopping next to him.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry for yelling,” Bucky says. “I’ll be quiet.”

“No, no, dear, that’s not the issue,” she says.

“Oh, then am I in your way?” he asks.

“No, it’s just that I’m about to leave the store, and drive home. I’m hoping that you’ll give me a few minutes’ head start before you leave, too.”

He nods and smiles at the old lady, then goes back to his phone. “I wish I were dead,” he says, still smiling.

“Daffodils are nice,” Natasha says.

— —

It’s probably presumptuous to go visit the guy you hit with your cat in the hospital and Bucky’s pretty sure that if his insurance company knew about Bucky going over there they’d be pissed, but you can’t just run someone over with your car and _not_ visit them in the hospital. That’d just be bad form.

Bad form like not stopping all the way at a stop sign and grazing the pedestrian who is crossing the street.

He knocks on the door. “Uh, hi,” he says, looking at the guy laying in bed.

The guy sits up a little, then winces. “Hi,” he says. “You lost?”

“No, at least… I don’t think so. You’re Steve Rogers?” The guy nods. “Okay, well, I’m Bucky Barnes and I maybe sort of hit you with my car,” he says, hiding behind the bouquet of daffodils a little. He peeks out from behind it. “Sorry about that,” he adds.

The guy snorts. “Believe it or not, it’s not the first time I’ve been hit by a car,” he says, “and you just tapped me.” He shrugs. “Honestly, I wouldn’t even be in here if it weren’t for my pre-existing conditions.” He perks up a little. “Are those for me?” he asks, looking at the flowers.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, walking forward towards the bed and holding the flowers out to Steve. “They are! They’re… daffodils.”

“I’m horribly allergic,” Steve says, grinning. “Gimme.”

“But you’re—“

“Already in the hospital,” Steve says, taking the flowers and smelling them. The yellow looks nice with his soft blond hair and it’s kind of cute when his thick black frame glasses slip down his nose while he sniffs. “Wow! These are great.”

“I’m glad you like them,” Bucky says, trying not to blush because the guy he ran over with his car is really stinking cute.

“Thanks for coming,” Steve says.

“Oh, uh,” Bucky says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It was the least I could do.”

“I’m I the hospital so much that my friends don’t even notice at this point, so it’s nice to have some company.” He’s still holding the flowers, and looks down at them again like he can’t believe he really has them, and Bucky wonders why his friends wouldn’t come visit him in the hospital when he is obviously the most adorable dork in all of New York City. He looks back up at Bucky. “You want some pudding?” he asks. “I have some extra.”

— —

Two years later and Steve feeds Bucky a spoonful of pudding. “Yum,” Bucky says, smacking his lips together.

“I can’t believe you convinced the caterers to serve pudding,” Steve says, grinning.

“You know how some couples have special songs or places?” Bucky asks.

Steve nods. “Yeah,” he says.

“Well, our dessert is pudding,” he says.

Steve rolls his eyes. “I can’t believe _you_ ,” Steve says.

“And I still can’t believe that you agreed to marry some guy who ran you over with his car,” Bucky says.

Steve shrugs. “You didn’t have enough money to be worth suing,” he says. “And,” he adds, “you only grazed me.”

Bucky grins, leans in and kisses his new husband.

“And you grazed me with your love,” he says. “Same thing.”

“Not at all!” Steve squeaks and Bucky laughs and around them their friends and family dance awkwardly to a mediocre DJ and they’re husbands now, and Bucky will never, ever, run over anyone else for the rest of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/160607567064/hey-from-that-huge-au-list-that-you-said-you-were)


	16. First Class

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: This is a five-hour-long plane ride, we’re sitting together and you’re deathly afraid of flying.

The man sitting on Bucky’s side is very attractive. Now, this is Bucky’s very first time sitting in first class (he got bumped from a previous flight and got an upgrade because of it), so he doesn’t necessarily know the rules, but it probably should’ve occurred to him that the seat would also come with a view. It never occurred to him that the beautiful people would be in first, but he also never stopped to look around, given that he always had to hustle back to coach carrying a roll-aboard carry-on that is always a little too overstuffed to fit in the overhead compartment, but which he tries to shove in anyway.

In first class there are beautiful men and the flight attendant shoved his bag in for him.

What a life.

Bucky wonders whether he should make conversation, but decides against it when he really looks at the guy. Sure, he’s practically from the pages of <i>Sports Illustrated</i>, but he also looks nervous — chewing on his lip, balling his hands into fists then releasing them. It’s probably best that Bucky just focuses on which of the many movie options available to him he should watch during the flight. It’s a long one, about five hours, so he’ll probably be able to fit in two movies if he doesn’t fall asleep. (Bucky doesn’t plan on falling asleep, since this is probably the one time in his life that he will enjoy the luxuries of first class and he doesn’t want to miss a moment.)

But Bucky is surprised when the guy turns to him. “Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Bucky responds. The man’s teeth are so straight and white that he looks like he could’ve stepped right out of a Crest commercial.

“How are you?” the man asks, sounding a little forced. Bucky glances down; the man is holding onto the armrest so hard that his knuckles are turning white.

“I’m great,” Bucky responds, a little squeakier than intended. “You?”

“I’ve been better,” he says, frowning. He turns forward again. “Do you think I could get some water?” he asks, not like he’s asking Bucky to get it for him, but like he’s genuinely confused as to whether he can get some water.

“I’m sure you can,” Bucky says. Seeing that this guy is probably not really used to flying like this (not that Bucky is, either), Bucky undoes his seatbelt and stands up. A flight attendant notices him immediately, and Bucky gives her a little wave.

“What’re you…” the man says, then folds into himself a little when the flight attendant arrives. “Hi,” he says.

“Hi there,” she says, giving the man a bright smile, then one to Bucky. “Can I help you with something?”

“My seat mate and I would like some water, if you don’t mind,” Bucky says with the biggest smile he can muster. He thinks it’d probably be less awkward for the guy if he asks for some, too.

“Of course, it’ll be just a second,” she says, heading back to that secretive area where flight attendants make magic happen.

“Thank you,” the man says.

“No sweat,” Bucky responds. “I’m Bucky, by the way.”

“Steve.”

“You nervous about flying?” Bucky asks.

Steve nods. “It’s been a while, and the last plane I was in crashed.”

“What?” Bucky asks, though it sounds a lot more like, “Whuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuht?”

The man gives a kind of sheepish, sad smile. “I’m a little nervous about flying again after that.”

Bucky wants Steve to be lying.

He desperately wants Steve to be lying.

He can totally tell that Steve is <i>not lying</i>.

“Fuck,” Bucky says, flopping back into his seat. “You gonna be okay?”

“Do I have a choice?” Steve asks just as the flight attendant reappears.

“Here are your waters,” she says, gingerly handing one to Steve, which he then passes to Bucky. She gives Steve the second plastic glass and he takes an immediate, grateful sip. “Can I do anything else for you two?” she asks.

“Steve?” Bucky asks. Steve shakes his head. “No, I think we’re fine. Thank you.”

She nods, then looks down at Steve. She takes a quick glance from side to side, then leans in and says, very quietly, “And thank you for your service, sir.”

“Thank you,” Steve says quietly, mustering up a smile before taking another small sip.

She grins, then heads back to the flight attendant area.

“You a vet?” Bucky asks, feeling like kind of an ass for not noticing. He takes a sip of water and looks up at Steve.

Steve nods. “Yeah,” he says. Then before Bucky can think of something to say in response he adds, “I’m Captain America.”

Bucky spits the water out all over his pants.

“Excuse me,” Steve says, raising an arm to get the flight attendant’s attention. “I think we’re going to need a napkin.”

As Bucky wipes down his pants he thinks to himself that he should’ve asked for a seat in coach. He’s never had an American legend sit next to him in coach.

“Thanks for taking my mind off of things,” Steve says with a smile, a real, dazzling smile, as he takes the wet, crumpled napkin from Bucky’s hand.

And Bucky knows now that he wouldn’t move to coach for the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/160647561064/this-is-a-five-hour-long-plane-ride-were-sitting)


	17. You Were Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: I sold my soul to bring you back to life and I don’t have long left please make this time count.

“They showed me papers,” Bucky says on a cold morning, just the two of them. Bucky looks at him up and down, like he has so many times since they were reunited. “They told me you were dead.”

“I was just in the ice—“

“No,” Bucky interrupts. “You were dead.”

“I wasn’t. I—“

“You were _dead_ ,” Bucky says. “I saved you.”

“Buck?” Steve asks, setting down the glass of water he had been drinking.

“I prayed first. God didn’t listen. Then the devil came to me.” He swallows hard. “He wore glasses.”

“That wasn’t the devil, Bucky.”

“Listen to me,” Bucky says, hard but not unkind. “He was the devil. And he told me that he would save you if I gave him my soul, so I did.” He drops his head, curtain of dark hair hiding his face. “It’s only a matter of time before—“

“No,” Steve interrupts. “It’s not… I don’t know if this is true or not, but you’ve served your time, Buck. It won’t happen again.” He crosses the room and gets down on one knee so he can look up at Bucky. He takes his metal hand in both of his. “I’m here. I’ll protect you.”

“I sold my soul,” Bucky says.

“Then I’ll buy it, I’ll keep it safe.” He swallows. “Or I’ll give you mine, Bucky. But I swear that they won’t take you again.”

“Do you promise?” Bucky asks.

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/160684546774/i-sold-my-soul-to-bring-you-back-to-life-and-i)


	18. Next Stop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "You fell asleep on me in the subway and I should probably wake you up and its my stop next stop but it’s okay, I can always just catch the subway back…" if you have time!! :)

“Great job!” Bucky says, jogging to catch up to Steve Rogers as he leaves the office. “I thought those mock-ups were fantastic.”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” Steve says, adjusting his scarf. It, along with his puffy coat, look like they’re about to swallow him. It’s adorable.

“And your presentation was super polished. I was really impressed. I’m in sales—”

“I know you’re in sales,” Steve says.

Bucky tries not to read in that. “Yeah! Good. I was just tryin’ to say that um, we don’t see a lot of presentations that’re that polished. It was really refreshin’.”

Somehow, despite the scarf and coat and his thick-framed glasses, Steve manages to level Bucky with a Look. “Thanks,” he says.

“So are you, uh, gettin’ the F train?” Bucky asks. “I’ve seen you on it a few times. I take it every day,” he adds, hoping it doesn’t come out as creepy. It probably came out as creepy.

He waits a long moment then says, “Yeah, I’ll be on the F train.”

Bucky nods and keeps walking, pretty sure that Steve just wants him to shut up and leave him alone.

Of course, the one time he actually has an excuse to talk to Steve and he’s already worn out his welcome.

After a minute or so, Steve sighs. “Sorry,” he says. “I’m being a jerk.”

“No, no!” Bucky says. “It’s not a big, I mean, I’m the one who…”

“I was up all night working on the presentation,” Steve says. “I haven’t slept all night, and I didn’t shower, so I’m pretty embarrassed to even be talking to you.” He sort of shrinks down into his scarf.

“Oh jeez,” Bucky says, as they start down the staircase to the train station.

“So I promise that I’m more of a person sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Bucky asks, swiping his card and going through the turnstiles, still close behind Steve.

Steve shrugs. “I’m not a people person,” he says.

“Better than a lizard in a person suit,” Bucky says. Steve shoots him another Look, but this time he’s… smiling a little.

“I guess,” he says.

They walk to the platform, Bucky happily surprised that Steve is letting him tag along, even if they are just standing in silence. When the train pulls up Steve walks in, then looks back towards Bucky and gestures for him to follow. Trying to keep his smile from getting too wide, Bucky scurries after him.

There are a few open seats and Steve drops into one with a huff. Bucky sits next to him, unable to keep from feeling a bit smug. He’s on the train next to his crush. Doesn’t get a whole lot better than that. “Where’s your stop?” Bucky asks.

“Neptune Avenue,” Steve says. “You?”

“Prospect Park.”

“Not too far from each other, all things considered,” Steve says, yawning.

“Nope!” Bucky says. He waits a long minute and then says, wringing his hands, “Maybe if you’re not busy we could—“

He almost jumps when Steve’s head hits his shoulder.

Bucky looks down and Steve is _out_ , snoring and adorable, glasses askew. Bucky smiles and settles in. There’s no harm in letting Steve get some rest, and Bucky is sure that he won’t sleep for _that_ long. Bucky hasn’t been able to do so much as take a cat nap on the train.

But then one stop goes by, and another. The car gets increasingly crowded but Steve remains asleep, soft hair tickling the edge of Bucky’s jaw.

Bucky realizes that Steve’s going to sleep through his stop. Of course, Bucky would have to wake him up to get off at Prospect Park, but given how easily Steve conked out the first time, there’s a pretty good chance that he’d just fall back asleep.

Prospect Park comes and goes, and Bucky stays in the train.

It’s not hard to sit and wait for Steve’s stop. The crowd thins out and things get more comfortable, so it’s actually pleasant. A few minutes before Neptune Avenue Bucky maneuvers himself around so that he can tap Steve’s shoulder. “Steve?” he asks. Steve grumbles and sort of rubs his head into Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky chuckles. “C’mon buddy, your stop is comin’ up,” Bucky says.

“Oh!” Steve says, sort of popping up. He’s got lines on the side of his face from Bucky’s jacket, and his glasses are completely askew. He looks over at Bucky and squints. “I slept?” he asks.

“The whole way,” Bucky says.

Steve clears his throat. “Your stop was…”

Bucky shrugs. “I’ll call an Uber or somethin’.”

“I’m _such_ a jerk,” Steve says as he adjusts his glasses.

“No, no! I just… You’re tired. I didn’t want you to fall asleep again and miss your stop.”

The tinny voice that announces the stop says they’re approaching Neptune Avenue.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Steve says. “Meet me after work tomorrow, okay?” Steve asks, standing up.

“Really?” Bucky asks.

“Definitely,” Steve says. “Maybe we can both get off at Prospect Park,” he adds with a little grin, then scampers off the train. Bucky watches him as the doors close, grinning as Steve turns around to wave him goodbye.

“Wow,” Bucky mutters. “Lucky me.”

Then he realizes that they’re on their way to Coney Island and he groans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/160785616364/you-fell-asleep-on-me-in-the-subway-and-i-should)


	19. Cheese Sandwiches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 0n-your-left asked: The "Don't tell anyone you saw me crying" AU sounds super promising!

The best part of Steve’s day is, generally when he gets to go eat lunch in the abandoned teacher’s office on the third floor. It’s quiet up there, and it’s not so dusty now that one of the custodians noticed him hanging out there and comes around to clean it up every so often. So, all in all, not a bad place to quietly eat his lunch, do some homework, and maybe get a bit of drawing done, if he’s up to it.

Except today, apparently.

After the bell rings and fifth period starts, Steve makes his way up to the abandoned teacher’s lounge. He’s got a cheese sandwich, apple slices and a can of Diet Sprite that he’s excited to eat, and a drawing of one of his classmates — a guy who probably doesn’t even know Steve exists, let alone would want Steve drawing him, but that’s the one good thing about being invisible — that he’s excited to finish up. But when he gets to his abandoned teacher’s office, he hears someone…

Well, he hears someone crying.

Still, it’s _his_ abandoned teacher’s office — he doesn’t have much else to take ownership of at this school, so he’ll take what he can get — so he enters anyway.

“What the hell?” Bucky Barnes says, furiously wiping off his face with the sleeve of his henley.

“Oh, uh,” Steve says, clutching the sketchbook that has an in-progress drawing _of Bucky Freaking Barnes_ in it tight.

“Come to laugh at me?” Bucky asks with a rueful chuckle.

“What? No,” Steve says, maybe a little fiercer than he should.

“Then what?” Bucky asks.

“I eat lunch here every day,” Steve says, straightening up. He may only be five foot four and weigh the same as a wet dachshund, but that doesn’t mean that he can’t be intimidating!

He does wish that his beanie would quit sliding down his head and hiding his eyebrows. Having visible eyebrows would probably help the intimidating factor.

“You eat… here?” Bucky asks, looking around the dim room like he’s really seeing it for the first time. He grimaces.

Steve pushes his beanie back. “You’re here crying!” Steve argues.

“Yeah, but I’ve only been here a couple times. You’re here every day.”

Steve scoffs. “Are you trying to contest who of the two of us is less pathetic, because that’s probably a pretty easy fight.”

“What do you mean by that?” Bucky asks, voice getting louder.

“You have _everything_ — friends, football, popularity. I just want to eat my cheese sandwich and listen to my iPod during lunchtime without having to confront crying jocks.”

Bucky stares at him for a moment, then his face screws up. “I’m s-s-sorry,” he says, starting to cry again.

“Oh jeez,” Steve says, shutting the door behind him and taking a few steps across the room, closer to the desk Bucky is sitting at. “Don’t… Cry, okay? I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“You didn’t… it’s not your fault,” Bucky says, burying his face in his hands.

Steve drops his backpack and kneels down, digging through it. After about forty seconds, he emerges victorious with a half-used pack of tissues. “Here,” he says, handing them out to Bucky.

Bucky looks up at him with wide, bloodshot eyes. “Really?” he asks. Steve nods. Bucky reaches out and takes the tissues from him. “Thanks,” he says, pulling one free from the package and loudly blowing his nose.

“No problem,” Steve says, trying not to be grossed out, though he can’t help but cringe a little when Bucky looks back up with a line of snot dripping out of his nose. “You oughta…” he says, gesturing to his nose.

“Shit,” Bucky says, wiping his nose again.

“Then again, if you’re sporting snot, I’m sure the rest of the school will follow,” Steve says, hoping he doesn’t sound as bitter as he feels.

Bucky shakes his head. “You don’t get it,” he says. “I’m not… It’s not like that.”

“That’s not what it looks from the outside,” Steve says, quiet.

Bucky gives him a little half-smile. “I’m just gonna tell you this because I feel like this abandoned teacher’s lounge is a safe, trustworthy space, okay? And because I feel like you won’t blab to a bunch of people, but everyone fuckin’ hates me.”

“Really?” Steve asks, deadpan.

Bucky nods. “It’s… Well, they may not think they hate me, but they do.”

“Please don’t tell me it’s because you’re too beautiful. If you do, I may scream,” Steve says and is rewarded when Bucky laughs.

“You’re spitfire,” he says. “Anyhow, I’m gay, and they’d fuckin’ hate me if they knew.”

There’s a long pause.

“You’re gay?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods, mouth flattening. “It feels real weird to say it out loud,” he admits.

Steve’s mouth drops. “I’m the first person you’ve told?” he asks, surprised.

Bucky shrugs. “I don’t got anyone to tell. My old man’s a homophobic asswipe who’d kick my ass if he knew, and it’s not like I’m gonna tell the guys on the football team that I like guys. They’d take turns kickin’ my ass and leave me a bloody lump on the field.”

Swallowing hard, Steve takes a seat close to Bucky’s. “That’s… a lot,” he says.

“I know,” Bucky says. “Which is why I feel justified to stay in this abandoned teacher’s lounge and cry for a bit, if you don’t mind.”

There’s a long pause.

“Can I eat my sandwich while you do so?”

Bucky snorts. “Sure,” he says. “Let’s live it up. Cheese sandwiches and tears, quite the couple.”

Steve shrugs. “I’ve seen worse,” he says, pulling his sandwich from his backpack and splitting it in half. “Want some?” he asks, holding it out to Bucky.

“Sure,” Bucky says, grabbing the sandwich and taking a huge bite.

— —

“Hey,” Bucky says as the bell for sixth period rings.

“Yeah?” Steve says, packing his stuff up.

“Wanna do this again tomorrow? Maybe without the crying?”

Steve smiles. “Sure,” he says.

— —

In a week, Bucky is letting Steve draw him.

In a month, Steve is letting Bucky kiss him.

In a year, they walk around their college campus hand-in-hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/160937577319/the-dont-tell-anyone-you-saw-me-crying-au)


	20. Bees?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pandasubaru asked: "My friend made me a grindr/tinder profile without me knowing and you liked my profile and then sent me a message which just said ‘Bees?’ and I’m a little confused but intrigued."

Steve’s phone buzzes.

“If this is another Grindr notification, I swear to God—“ Steve starts.

“That you’ll answer it and go get laid?” Sam says. Natasha snickers.

“That I’ll kick your ass,” Steve says.

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Will you?” he asks.

“Yes, I will!” Steve says.

“He’s very scrappy,” Natasha says. “He once managed to scratch me.”

“Check your messages,” Sam says.

Steve sighs, rolls his eyes, and pulls out his phone. He reads the notification from wintersoldat3255. It says, _Bees?_ and nothing else.

He holds the phone up to Sam. “See?” he says. “See the weirdos who message me because you made this profile?”

Sam takes the phone from Steve, reads the message, and snorts. “Okay, well, maybe they’re not all winners. Let’s see what he…” he trails off, eyes going wide. “ _Shit_ , those are some pectorals.”

“Oh, pass it here,” Natasha says, taking the phone. Even Natasha — who is rarely impressed — raises her eyebrows. “Maybe you should see what this guy has to say,” she says, passing the phone back to Steve after a long moment.

“I’ve seen what he has to say, and what he has to say is ‘bees’, apparently.”

“It was a question,” Sam says. “You should change your intonation.”

Steve exhales. “Bees?” he asks, exaggerating the raised end of the question. “That better?”

“Very,” Sam says. “Now let’s look at your other prospects.”

Steve gets up to get another round of drinks.

— —

He doesn’t know why he goes back to Grindr that night, after he’s back home and has had a few drinks. It’s not that he wants to get laid — honestly, he doesn’t want to get out of bed — but he’s sort of curious about who saw his photos and thought ‘yeah, I’d hit that’.

He scrolls through a few generic messages, then sees the one from wintersoldat3255.

_Bees?_

What the fuck.

So he types out, _what the fuck?_ and sends it back to the guy.

He doesn’t expect an answer — the guy messaged him hours ago — but it only takes a minute or so before he gets a response:

_You say save the bees in your profile, which is noble and everything, but I know for a FACT that you’re allergic to bees._

First of all, Steve is a little heartened knowing that Sam knows him well enough to include the fact that the bees need to be put on the endangered species list and should be protected on his dating profile. But then he realizes that this guy… somehow knows that Steve is allergic to bees, which is _creepy as hell_.

 _No I’m not_ , Steve lies, calling the guy’s bluff.

_No, you are. I’m the one who shoved an Epipen in your thigh after you got stung during Gilmore Hodge’s birthday party and his mom was too freaked out to do anything about it._

Steve stares at the message, then shakes his head. It can’t be right! The person who stuck the Epipen in his thigh during Gilmore Hodge’s birthday party was Bucky Barnes, and this guy can’t be Bucky Barnes.

Can he?

Steve quickly clicks over to his profile. He scrolls through the pictures, but there aren’t any of his face, just abs and pecs, which makes Steve roll his eyes a little. When he goes back to his messages he has another from wintersoldat3255:

_Yeah Steve, it’s me._

Steve’s eyes go wide.

 _Bucky?_ he asks.

_Long time no see._

_Can’t actually see your face, so I don’t really know it’s you._

A photo appears. It’s of Bucky Barnes, mugging for the camera with a toothy grin.

 _You wanna catch up?_ Bucky writes.

 _Sure. Where are you?_ Steve asks, heart beating fast.

_It’s Grindr. The whole point is that you can see._

Steve rolls his eyes, they make plans to meet-up at a local 24-hour diner in a half hour, and Steve saves the photo that Bucky sent him, just in case.

— —

Bucky is already sitting in a booth when Steve walks in. He perks up, grins, and waves. “Steve!” he calls.

Steve straightens up a little, takes a breath. He shouldn’t be so nervous; it’s not like there’s anything riding on this. He’s just seeing his childhood best friend for the first time in over ten years. No big deal.

Doesn’t help that Bucky was Steve’s first crush, but no big deal, either.

He walks over, and Bucky’s just _grinning_ at him, like he’s the best thing he’s seen in years. “Hey Buck,” Steve says.

“Steve,” Bucky says, kind of breathy. “Wow, you look fantastic.”

Steve shrugs. “I look like me,” he says. “Don’t have abs like you do, apparently.”

Bucky laughs, ducks his head. “I’ll be honest — my friends made that profile for me. I thought Peter was taking pictures for his art class of me at the gym.”

“Why didn’t he include his face?” Steve asks. “It’s not like your face is a bad one.”

Bucky laughs. “Thanks for that, I think.” He pauses, starts playing with the edge of the plastic menu on the table in front of him. “And it’s because I’m out but I’m not _out_ out.”

“Okay?” Steve says, a little confused.

“Anyhow, what have you been up to? How’s life? Do you still like pancakes? Because this place has the _best_ pancakes.”

— —

It’s weird how easy it is, reconnecting with Bucky. Steve never spent much effort trying to find him after they lost touch. He just assumed that Bucky thought he was too cool for him when they got to high school, and it was almost a relief when he moved away during the summer before their junior year, just so Steve wouldn’t have to be reminded of the best friend he lost.

He wants to ask Bucky about it, but he doesn’t have to. Bucky just opens up during their second round of milkshakes.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“For what?” Steve asks.

“For when I stopped talking to you during high school. I know that it must’ve made you feel like shit.”

Steve fidgets. He doesn’t want to answer that.

“You know my parents were in a bad place.”

“They got divorced, right?” he asks.

Bucky nods. “But the last two years were… really bad.” He pauses, clears his throat. “I wasn’t hanging out with a great crowd. And I think I justified not talking to you because I didn’t want you to get involved with that crowd. But I more just think that I didn’t want you talking me out of the bad shit I was doing.”

Steve remembers the way that Bucky walked down the halls with his friends, rolling his eyes at Steve when he tried to talk to him. Of course, Steve tried to talk to him, tried having a showdown of some kind, but Bucky would just… walk away. He never bothered listening.

It hurt.

“And then my parents got divorced and my mom and I moved in with my Uncle Pierce, and…” He trails off.

“That’s the uncle who I met that one time, right? Who said I should be sent to a pray away the gay camp?”

“We had no money,” Bucky says.

“How was it?”

“I joined the Army as soon as I could,” Bucky says with a weak smile.

“Shit,” Steve says.

He shrugs. “I’m out now, and I’m doing pretty well for myself. Got my issues, but everyone else does.” Steve nods. “And besides, I’m free to do whatever I want now, so.”

“So you’re spending your time on Grindr?” Steve asks.

“You are, too!” Bucky says.

“My friends made me a profile!”

“No, Steve, you can’t take that excuse. I already used it.” He’s laughing, and Steve kicks him underneath the table.

“It’s true!”

“Yeah, yeah, Steve Rogers.” He stops laughing, just smiles. “Steve Rogers,” he repeats, quieter.

“That’s my name,” he says. The ‘don’t wear it out’ is implied.

He glances down at his shake, and stirs it with his straw. “I wanted to find you again for a while,” he admits, still looking down. “I debated about sending you a message for about an hour before I did.”

“I’m glad you did,” Steve says. “I’ve wondered a lot about what happened to you.”

“Do you think…” Bucky starts, looking up. He clears his throat. “Do you think that we could meet again sometime? I just… I feel like this is a second chance, and I don’t wanna mess it up.”

“I’d like to see you again,” Steve says, stomach tingling, and not from the milkshake.

“Cool,” Bucky says, and Steve feels his foot shift against his. He doesn’t move it away.

Steve doesn’t mind, just presses his own foot closer to Bucky’s, and looks forward to their future together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/161683453919/au-ideas-4-with-artist-steve-thatd-be)


	21. Work Retreat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aughisky asked: "Hey! I absolutely love your writing, and I thought of a prompt that feels perfect for Stucky--Steve and Bucky are on a Work Retreat with Work Friends and after a few drinks end up back in one of their rooms, on the verge of hooking up. Only, just then Mutual Friend Sam knocks on the door, but (oh no!) neither Steve nor Bucky can remember what room they're in and so can't figure out who should respond. Maybe Sam knows? And is messing with them? TIA, you're fantastic <3"
> 
> NOTE: I decided to do Steve and Bucky as sober instead of tipsy because I just like to write consent to be very, very clear!

Steve takes a seat next to Bucky at the bar. “This taken?” he asks.

“It is by your presumptive ass,” Bucky says. “You want a drink?”

“Ginger ale?” Steve asks.

“What me to ask ‘em for a shot of something? Some grenadine, perhaps?” Bucky asks, gesturing to his own Shirley Temple.

“That’s a little wild, Barnes. Not sure if I’m up to it,” Steve says.

“Aw, c’mon, live a little,” Bucky says. He gestures to the bartender. “Can I get my buddy a Shirley Temple? Extra cherries, and put it on my tab,” he says.

The bartender nods and gets to work.

“How’s everyone doing?” Steve asks.

“Sam’s fine, Maria is gettin’ into an argument with Dum Dum, but that’s par for the course. You wanna know how I’m doin’?” Bucky asks, wagging his brows a few times.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Doesn’t take a genius to see that you’re fine,” he says.

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “So you think I’m fine?” he asks.

The bartender sets Steve’s drink down in front of him. “I, I didn’t say that!” Steve stutters out. The bartender snorts and Steve shoots her a look, but thanks her anyway because Sarah Rogers raised a son with manners.

“Anyhow, what’s on the agenda for tonight?” Bucky asks. “Got another executive session planned?”

Steve sighs. “As a matter of fact, I do not,” he says, taking a sip of his Shirley Temple.

Bucky hums in agreement, and surveys the bar. “Seems like a chill night,” he says.

“Sure does. Think everyone needs some rest after the awesome team building exercises we did today.”

Bucky looks over at Steve through the corner of his eye. “You’re jokin’, right?” he asks.

Steve grins. “‘Course I am,” he says.

Bucky laughs. “Jeez, the sober corner got a lot more fun when you joined the firm.”

“Did it?” Steve asks.

He nods. “Yeah, it did.”

Steve had been worried about the vibe at the new firm when he first got here. His last job was… pretty booze-heavy, and the fact of the matter is that Steve doesn’t like to drink. Never has, never will. It took all of ten minutes to find Bucky sitting at the corner of the bar with a Shirley Temple — his usual poison — and great conversation. Bucky’s been sober since he was eighteen for reasons that he doesn’t talk about, and the two started hanging out during office retreats. Then they started hanging out at the office. Now, Steve just wishes they could take their hang-outs to the next level.

“Hey,” Bucky says. “If I ask you to come hang out in my room do you gotta fill out some paperwork?”

“What?” Steve asks.

“Let’s ditch this place and go hang out in my room,” Bucky says.

Steve’s heart starts pounding and he throws back his drink in a few gulps. “Let’s go,” he says.

“Was that some weird macho shit?” Bucky asks.

Steve rolls his eyes. “I just didn’t want to waste your money.”

Bucky leans in. “Steve, buddy,” he says, voice going low. “It’s on the company’s dime.”

— —

The walk to Bucky’s room is pretty short and Steve spends it with his hands in his pockets, heart beating fast in his chest. Bucky unlocks the door and opens it for Steve. “After you,” he says.

Steve walks into the room. It looks the same as his generic hotel room, but knowing that Bucky’s spent the past few nights in here sends a little thrill up Steve’s spine.

“Sorry,” Bucky says. “Was kinda goin’ nuts out there. By the end of these retreats I just get a little sick of everyone.”

“Did you want to be alone?” Steve asks, managing to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

“No, I wanna hang out with you,” Bucky says. “Unless you wanna go,” he says, futzing with something on the table and not looking at Steve.

“I want to be where you are,” Steve says, maybe a little too honest.

But then Bucky looks up at him with a smile. “Yeah?” he asks.

“You may not have noticed, but I really like you,” Steve says.

“You’re gonna have to be more clear than that,” Bucky says. “Don’t think HR will take ‘really like you’ as an official relationship designation.”

“How about, I’ve been wanting you to ask me out since we met?” Steve says, standing straight and hoping for the best.

“So, boyfriend?” Bucky asks.

“That’s a little presumptuous, but sure,” Steve says. “Boyfriend works.”

“Boyfriend,” Bucky says, moving across the room, closer to Steve. “Hi boyfriend,” he says, coming so close that he’s almost flush against Steve’s chest.

“Hi,” Steve says, leaning down and wrapping an arm around Bucky’s back. “Why don’t we…” he says, pressing his lips to Bucky’s.

Their kiss is amazing and slow and the sexiest thing that’s ever happened to Steve.

And it’s cut off too soon by a knock at the door.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bucky says.

“Don’t answer it,” Steve says.

“ _BUCKY_ ,” says a loud voice on the other side of the door.

“Sam,” they say in unison.

Bucky sighs and detaches himself from Steve. Steve frowns, but doesn’t complain when he does.

Bucky walks over to the door and opens it up, part of the way, not enough to let Sam see Steve. “Hey man,” he says. “What’s up?”

“We need a ride to Taco Bell, wanna soak up some of this poison. You game?”

“Oh, uh, I’m a little busy right now.”

“Don’t be like that, Bucky. Take us to Taco Bell!”

And that’s when Steve walks up behind Bucky. “Take an Uber,” he says, then gently pulls Bucky out the way and closes the door.

He can hear Sam whoop as he and Bucky kiss again, this time for real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/162033296279/hey-i-absolutely-love-your-writing-and-i-thought)


	22. He Needs a Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short Shrunkyclunks fic for getluckywithbucky.

“This tastes like crap,” Bucky says, wincing as he deposits his used spoon into the sink. “What the fuck is that?”

“I think it’s supposed to be broccoli cheddar soup,” Darcy says.

“We’re servin’ this to, like,  _important_  people, right?” Bucky asks.

Darcy nods. “I think there’s a senator in there,” she says.

Bucky groans. “This place is gonna go out of business and then I’m gonna default on my student loan, and all because Maurice decided to have a hissy fit and quit! Today of all days!”

“I still can’t believe that we hired someone named Maurice in the first place.”

“I think boss was just impressed that he was French.” Bucky sighs, flips the steaks he’s searing in preparation for service. “Doesn’t matter now, since we’re fucked.”

“Don’t say that, Bucko,” Darcy says, mock-punching Bucky’s arm. He rolls his eyes and nudges her away from the searing hot pans on his stove. “We could still find us a hero.”

“Uh, excuse me?” says a tentative voice from the other side of the kitchen. Bucky looks up to see…

Mother fucking Captain America.

“Oh my God,” Darcy says. “He  _heard_  me. Awesome.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Yeah? Need something?” he asks, because even if he is Captain America, he should not be in the kitchen of Bucky’s restaurant. A kitchen doing prep is a dangerous place even for American icons.

“Can I hide back here?” Captain America asks.

He looks at Bucky.

Bucky looks at him.

Darcy snickers, and Bucky elbows her side.

“Why?” Bucky asks after a pause that bordered on awkward.

He gives Bucky a shy smile. “The people out there are really boring,” he says.

“Can you chop vegetables?” Bucky asks, perking up.

“What?” Captain America asks.

“Can. You. Chop. Vegetables.” Bucky says, saying each syllable slowly and clear.

Captain America nods. “I sure can,” he says.

“Darcy, take him to get a hairnet and and an apron. Cap, welcome to mise en place.”

— —

“Didn’t they miss you?” Bucky asks at the end of — an admittedly terrible — service. He wipes his hands off on a clean towel; Steve’s just finished up with the dishes. Steve isn’t the best help he’s ever had in his years in the kitchen, but he’s been friendly and funny on a pretty shitty night. Even though he’s sure that the restaurant’s reputation is completely trashed, Bucky can’t bring himself to mind all that much.

Steve shrugs. “Don’t think so,” he says.

“Maybe they miss Captain America,” Bucky says.

“Yeah, well, I’m Steve.”

Bucky smiles. “You wanna grab a drink?” Bucky asks.

Steve looks up from the plate he’s putting away. “Really?” he asks.

“Sort of a tradition after a bad shift,” Bucky says, then adds, “or any shift, really.”

Steve chuckles. “You want me to ask everyone else if they wanna go?” he asks.

Most of the staff has taken off already, and it’s really just he and Steve left. “Nah,” Bucky says. “Let’s just go. Keeps you from havin’ to buy too many people a drink,” he says.

“Shouldn’t you buy one for me, since I did all this work for free?”

“And I’m the one who did you a favor by lettin’ you stay back here.”

“Maybe I could do you a favor some other way,” Steve says, face going red. His face didn’t go that red when he lifted the lid off of a pot of boiling potatoes and had a close encounter with a burst of steam. It’s pretty damn cute.

Bucky smirks. “Drink first,” Bucky says. “Then we’ll see.”

“Drink’s on me,” Steve says.

“Drink’s on you,” Bucky agrees before he hangs up his apron for the night and sets out with Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/162185368839/he-needs-a-hero)


	23. Rogers, Steven Grant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> softbrobucky asked: "1: I'm a private detective hired to follow you, but you're endearingly boring and mostly I just like watching you and oops, I sort of find you adorable."

The soldier watches Rogers, Steven Grant with keen eyes.

He watches Rogers, Steven Grant sketch in his notebook at an outdoors cafe and order two (2) caramel macchiatos. He wonders if Rogers, Steven Grant knows the calorie content of the two (2) caramel macchiatos, because a young woman fretted over the calorie content of her caramel macchiato in line behind Rogers, Steven Grant. The soldier does not care about the calorie contents of Starbucks beverages, and he is not sure that Rogers, Steven Grant would, either. Still, he wonders.

When Rogers, Steven Grant finishes his two (2) caramel macchiatos, he walks to Central Park. Rogers, Steven Grant walks aimlessly, hands in his pockets. Many of the other people — fuckin’ tourists — walk around holding hands, or wear headphones as they jog along in skin-tight, brightly colored clothing. Rogers, Steven Grant dodges those people — fuckin’ tourists — and continues along with a frown on his face. The frown seems out of place in the park.

Rogers, Steven Grant sits on a bench next to an older woman in a dirty sky blue coat, identity unknown. Not a threat. They exchange pleasantries, and Steve pulls a few dollars from his own coat pocket and places them gently in her hands with a smile. They sit for a few more minutes after that, then Rogers, Steven Grant stands back up and continues on his walk.

The soldier follows Rogers, Steven Grant through the rest of the park, and into Manhattan. The soldier follows Rogers, Steven Grant on the F train and back into Brooklyn. The soldier watches as Rogers, Steven Grant meets with Wilson, Samuel Thomas at a pizza parlor.

Wilson, Samuel Thomas tells Rogers, Steven Grant to “wipe that sadass pout off your face and go order us some garlic knots.” Rogers, Steven Grant obeys Wilson, Samuel Thomas. He stands up and moves from their table to go stand in a line behind an orange counter. Rogers, Steven Grant waits patiently as two people — a teenage boy, identity unknown but not a threat, and a forty-six year-old woman, identity known, but not a threat — order, then orders what the soldier assumes are garlic knots.

Rogers, Steven Grant returns to the table where Wilson, Samuel Thomas is waiting. They talk about their lives and the weather for twenty-six minutes and fifty-two seconds. A young man — identity unknown, not a threat, though the soldier winces when he sees the man’s acne — brings them two large bacon, mushroom and onion pies, and a basket of garlic knots.

It takes Rogers, Steven Grant and Wilson, Samuel Thomas twenty-one minutes and fifteen seconds to eat the food. It is perhaps the most excruciating twenty-one minutes and fifteen seconds of the soldier’s assignment. He wonders if Rogers, Steven Grant would move if the soldier stole away to the kitchen and stole a slice of pizza for himself.

Rogers, Steven Grant and Wilson, Samuel Thomas part ways with a pat on the back. Rogers, Steven Grant shoves his hands in his pockets again and walks to his apartment. Rogers, Steven Grant spends forty-six minutes watching network news, shaking his head, and clicking his tongue. He then shuts off the television, drinks a large glass of water, and changes into his pajamas. After brushing his teeth, he crawls into bed.

“Night Buck,” he says quietly, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t know if you’re listening, but I hope you’re safe tonight. I love you.”

Rogers, Steven Grant falls asleep soon after.

When he is sure that Rogers, Steven Grant is sound asleep, the soldier quietly opens the window of Rogers, Steven Grant’s bedroom. He slips inside, and closes it behind him. The soldier looks at Rogers, Steven Grant as he sleeps. His chest moves up and down with each breath. One of his feet sticks out from underneath his blanket. Quietly, the soldier takes the edge of the blanket and covers Rogers, Steven Grant’s foot with it.

“I love you, too,” the soldier says in a voice raspy with disuse before he slips into bed next to Rogers, Steven Grant, and falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/162110512899/1-im-a-private-detective-hired-to-follow-you)


	24. Pants(less)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> downwarddnaspiral asked: "from the random prompts, "[text] Living alone for four weeks has given me unrealistic expectations of pantslessness.""

“Steve just got here,” Bucky mutters into his phone from the balcony of his apartment. He is not wearing pants.

“Are you wearing pants?” Natasha asks.

There’s a long pause.

“You’re not wearing pants,” Natasha says.

“Living alone for four weeks has given me unrealistic expectations of pantslessness,” Bucky says.

“You’re hopeless,” Natasha says.

“And you didn’t tell me that Steve is  _hot_ ,” Bucky counters, shivering a little. It’s November, and he’s not wearing pants.

Natasha sighs. “Would you have been wearing pants if I had told you? Or, let me rephrase this,” she says before Bucky can answer, “would you have cared about not wearing pants if he weren’t hot?”

“Of course I’d want to be wearing pants when meeting my new roommate, I’m not an animal.”

“I saw a photo the other day of a poodle who always wears pants,” Natasha says.

“First, send me that picture. Second, that’s completely beside the point! I’m stuck out on the fire escape without any pants and with no way to get into my room without going through the living room where my new, hot roommate is sitting, probably waiting to meet me and I’m probably just going to die out here, and it’s your fault.”

“How is it my fault?” Natasha asks, and Steve can tell from her restrained tone that she’s going to start laughing at any moment. The traitor.

“Because he’s  _your_  hot friend, not mine!”

She starts laughing.

Bucky groans and hangs up the phone.

And then he hears someone clear their throat behind him.

Bucky turns, slowly, blood draining from his face. Steve is standing there at the window, curtains drawn, looking at him. “Hi,” he says.

“Hey there,” Bucky squeaks.

“Window was open,” Steve says.

“The whole time?” Bucky asks.

Steve nods. “The whole time.”

“So,” Bucky says.

“So,” Steve parrots back.

“I should probably grab some pants,” Bucky says.

Steve shrugs. “You don’t have to,” he says. Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Natasha warned me that my new roommate was hot. Didn’t realize that you’d be hot  _and_ come without pants.”

“You’re pretty forward,” Bucky says, grinning.

Steve grins right back. “I’m not the one who showed up without pants.”

Steve winks and Bucky thinks he’s fallen in love.

But it’s also cold, so he puts on some pants before taking them off again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/162109771989/from-the-random-prompts-text-living-alone-for)


	25. Love Potions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "you are already dating someone else, and during our love potion unit, you get asked to explain what you smell, and of course you’re gonna be smelling things that describe your partner right? uhm, but then why are you explicitly describing me…?" 
> 
> (A Harry Potter AU)

“See ya, love,” Bucky says, giving Dot a peck on the cheek and a pat on the ass.

“Don’t be giving that love potion to another girl,” Dot warns, elbowing Bucky’s side.

Bucky groans with exaggerated pain, like the mild elbow to the side actually hurt him. It didn’t. Steve knows that because he knows that Bucky can withstand a lot of pain.

“Don’t worry about that, sweetheart,” Bucky says with a grin. “You know you’re it for me,” he adds in a smooth voice, putting a hand on her hip.

Steve rolls his eyes from next to them. Bucky’s his best friend, so being the third wheel is better than being left behind; though, sometimes he wonders about that. “We’re gonna be late,” he says, not because he’s that worried about being late, but he really doesn’t want to stand there as the two of them make out. Again.

“Shit,” Bucky says, disengaging from Dot. “Steve’s right, we gotta go,” he says, dropping Dot and grabbing Steve’s arm. “Thanks for letting me know, bud,” Bucky says with this big, lingering smile that makes Steve forget all about how stupid Bucky acts when he’s dating somebody. It’s like he promised back in second year when he started dating Clara — he’ll always be Steve’s friend first.

Steve smiles back. “Happy to,” he says, a and lets Bucky drag him the rest of the way down the dungeon to Potions class.

They’re there just in time, and Professor Slughorn chuckles at the sight of them. “Barnes, my boy! Glad you made it here on time, I wasn’t so sure, you know, when you spend your time between classes with your lady friend.” Bucky shrugs with a smug smile as Professor Slughorn chuckles to himself. “I understand, you see, I was once a young man like yourself, though it seems hard to believe today. Why don’t you take your seat, then? I think you’ll enjoy today’s lesson, and… Oh, Roger, didn’t see you behind Barnes. You can take your seat, too.”

“It’s Rogers,” Bucky corrects, polite but firm, and Steve can’t help but smile at his friend. “Steve Rogers.”

“Yes, well, that’s fine,” Professor Slughorn says. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

“You think he’ll ever learn my name?” Steve asks Bucky as they head to their seats.

“No,” Bucky says, “but you ever considered that may be a good thing? His dinner parties are tedious as hell. You know he sat me by Brock Rumlow last time, of all people? I hate Brock Rumlow, the asshole.”

“I know,” Steve says. “You didn’t shut up about it for about two weeks.”

“It was that bad,” Bucky says, pulling his textbook from his bed.

There’s a lot Steve could be jealous of Bucky about, but Professor Slughorn’s adoration for him isn’t one of them. Slughorn’s kind of a prick, and while Steve would like to be invited to his fancy dinner parties, Bucky will always slip an extra dessert into a napkin to bring back to Gryffindor Tower for Steve. They’ll usually spend the rest of the night huddled in Steve’s bed, gossiping about the people at Slughorn’s party and all the stupid stuff they did during the night.

Honestly, Steve really likes those nights.

“You know what we’re doing today?” Bucky asks, trying to find the page for last night’s homework. Of course, it only takes him a second, because he actually does all of his homework and reading, unlike most everyone in class. Somehow, Bucky is the nerdiest guy he knows, which is unfair given that he’s also the hottest guy he knows, and he somehow manages to make it work.

“Slughorn said it would be a happy surprise last time,” Steve says.

“I’m intrigued,” Bucky says.

“More like aroused,” Steve mutters. Bucky elbows him, and Steve yelps a little. Brock Rumlow glares at them from the other side of the room, and both Steve and Bucky shoot him a big grin, because they’re assholes, then dissolve into giggles.

“Everyone,” Slughorn says at the front of the room. Steve manages to calm himself down, but Bucky keeps giggling like the ass he is. Steve nudges his side, which just makes Bucky giggle more, but since Bucky is the apple of Slughorn’s creepy eye, Slughorn just ignores it. “Today, I’ve got a special surprise for you.” He lifts the lid off of the cauldron at the front of the room with a grin. “Amortentia, the most powerful love potion in the world.”

There’s a chorus of “oohs” from around the world. Brock says, “Jasper, maybe you’ll finally get a date!” loudly. Jasper swears at Brock under his breath.

“Keep calm, everyone,” Professor Slughorn says with a chuckle. “And no one will actually be  _giving_  anyone else any of this. It’s powerful stuff — not to be messed with. Now, can anyone tell me the properties of a properly brewed batch of Amortentia?”

They talk for a little while about the potion and how to brew it. Steve zones out a bit because, honestly, he’s not too great at Potions. He’s only here because Bucky asked him to take the class with him once they got their OWL scores and qualified. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be here here.

“That’s right,” Professor Slughorn says. “The potion will smell like whatever it is that attracts a person most. Maybe we should have a demonstration…” He pauses, eyes surveying the room. “Yes, I think Mr. Barnes, one of our resident lovebirds, should be our guinea pig,” he says with a wink.

Someone in the class wolf-whistles. Bucky’s eyes go wide. “I’m alright,” he says.

“Don’t be shy, lad! Come on up and take a whiff.”

“Go on up,” Steve says with a grin. “I always wanted to know what it is that Dot smells like,” he says.

“You suck,” Bucky says as he stands up and heads to the front of the room.

“That’s it,” Professor Slughorn says as Bucky reaches them. “Step forward and take a good long whiff, then tell us what it’s like,” he says.

Bucky nods stiffly, then sticks his head into the pearly fumes of the potion. All at once his posture becomes more  relaxed. “Wow,” he says quietly. “It’s… it’s like the smell of a riverbank, or hot pavement in the summer. It’s black cherry soda and fresh Irish soda bread with raisons. It’s fresh sheets in Gryffindor Tower and…” He trails off, then goes ramrod straight. “That’s it,” he says.

“Very descriptive, Mr. Barnes! And specific. It must be nice to be a young man in love,” he adds, with a chuckle.

“Can I sit?” Bucky asks.

“Of course, my boy!”

Bucky looks up and towards the table, and of course he sees Steve. Steve, who has been staring at Bucky this whole time, practically open-mouthed.

And Bucky runs out of the room.

— —

Because Professor Slughorn is Professor Slughorn, he makes up an excuse for Bucky running out and laughs it off. Brock Rumlow laughs a little less kindly, but Steve barely notices.

All Steve can think of are the smells that Bucky listed:

A riverbank, hot pavement, black cherry soda, Irish soda bread, fresh sheets in Gryffindor Tower.

And Steve thinks of their summers together in Steve’s ma’s apartment, playing on the hot streets and watching the river pass them by before going home to drink black cherry sodas and to eat his ma’s Irish soda bread, an old family recipe. He thinks of all the nights they’ve spent together, sneaking into each other’s beds in Gryffindor Tower and keeping each other awake with comic books or gossip.

Those smells don’t describe Dot at all.

Those smells describe Steve. Those smells describe Steve and Bucky and the life that they’ve lived in each other’s pocket.

— —

Steve finds Bucky after class in his bed in Gryffindor Tower, the curtains drawn. He’s taken off his robes and sits in a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, hugging his knees close to his chest. His face is red, and his eyes are bloodshot like he’s been crying.

“I’m sorry,” he says as soon as Steve finds him.

“For what?” Steve asks.

“Making you carry my stuff up here,” Bucky says, surprising Steve.

Steve laughs and dumps Bucky’s bag down on the edge of his bed before climbing in himself. “How’d you know I’d bring it?” Steve asks.

“That’s just who you are,” Bucky says, curling in closer to himself. He’s quiet for a long moment. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

“For what?” Steve asks, quiet.

“You know why,” Bucky says.

“It’s no something to be sorry about,” Steve says.

“I wasn’t sure what to expect when I went up there,” Bucky says. “I thought it’d be generic shit, like the smell of roses or cologne.”

“I thought you did the reading,” Steve says.

Bucky looks up at him and glares. “Professor Slughorn didn’t assign any reading on this potion,” he says, cold.

Steve can’t help but laugh. “Okay, okay!” he says when Bucky keeps glaring at him.

“I’m so embarrassed,” Bucky says.

“It is a kind of shitty way for everyone in class to find out your crush.”

Bucky groans. “Was it so obvious?” he asks.

“That you weren’t talking about Dot, sure, since she’s a Ravenclaw and all.”

“Fuck,” Bucky says. He looks up. “Thanks for being cool about this,” he says, voice cracking. “I just… I didn’t ever expect for you to find out at all, let alone like this.”

Steve shrugs. “It’s fine,” he says. “Can’t say that I expected it, but you’re always surprising me.” Bucky rolls his eyes. “Anyhow, you ran out before I could sniff it. You wanna know what I smelled?” he asks.

“Sure,” Bucky says. “Torture me.”

“Stop being so dramatic. Anyhow, I sniffed it and the only thing I could smell was that terrible body wash your ma sent you the time she went shopping in the Muggle supermarket.”

Bucky looks up. “The Old Spice?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

Steve nods. “Yeah, you used the whole bottle even though it was kind of nasty because you didn’t want her to be sad.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says.

“And that’s like… all I smelled for about twelve solid seconds.”

Bucky swallows. “Are you making fun of me?” he asks, practically croaking.

“No,” Steve says. “It was the Old Spice. Once that stench faded, it was some other things: that old jean jacket that you let me wear sometimes, sugar mice, old musty books. Then, it was just you,” he says.

Bucky looks up. “Are you joking?” he asks.

“I’m serious,” Steve says. “I… I never thought you felt the same way. Never. If I did, I would have let you known a lot sooner.”

“I love you,” Bucky says. “I always have.”

Steve grins. “Me too,” he says. “And I have a few ideas on how we can mess up these clean sheets,” he says.

Steve groans. “You’re the worst. Such a nice moment and you  _ruined_  it.”

“Don’t worry,” Steve says, “we have a lifetime of moments ahead of us.”

Bucky grins. “Yeah,” he says. “We do.”

And then he leans in and gives Steve the first and best kiss of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/162811366679/you-are-already-dating-someone-else-and-during)


	26. Gryffindor!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "we’re both in gryffindor tower and everyone is asleep except us, but it’s thunderstorming and i never noticed how loud thunder is up in this tower, haha, i’m a little freaked out, would you mind if i just sat in your bed with you? just until it’s over? absolutely no homo? (Either stucky or winter iron please?)"
> 
> (Another Harry Potter AU.)

The thunder keeps Steve awake.

Now, he’s not afraid of thunder; hasn’t been since he was a kid and his mother sat him down and explained all of the science behind thunder, and promised him that he’d be safe as long as he was inside and paying attention.

But it doesn’t mean that the thunder won’t keep him from falling asleep.

Honestly, he’s had a little trouble sleeping since he got to Hogwarts three nights ago. He’s eleven — practically an adult — and he shouldn’t be kept awake by the aching feeling in the pit of his stomach that he doesn’t belong here, that his parents were muggles and that he’s somehow less than the other boys in the dorm.

As if on ominous cue, there’s a huge burst of thunder.

He hears a whimper from one of the other beds, and something that sounds like someone breathing hard, maybe crying.

Steve’s mom told him a lot of things growing up. One such thing was that you should never let someone who is in pain know that they’re alone.

Steve quietly slips out of bed and tiptoes around the room, trying to figure out which bed the crying is coming from. There’s another loud crack of thunder, and another whimper, and Steve can hear that the person crying is…

Bucky Barnes?

He pauses, standing in front of the canopy of Bucky Barnes’ bed. It’s definitely coming from there, but it seem surprising. Even though they’ve only been at Hogwarts for a few days, Bucky already has a lot of friends. He’s got a great, big smile and a knack with a broomstick. During their first class Professor Flitwick complimented his charms work. Rumor is that he’s from an old bloodline and is as pureblooded as they come. It surprises Steve that this kid is sitting in his bed crying over something as silly as a thunderstorm.

But he is crying.

Steve sighs, knowing what he has to do.

He moves closer to the opening of the curtain. “Bucky?” he asks quietly.

He can hear Bucky clear his throat. “Yes?” he says in a croaking voice a few seconds later.

“Can I come in?” Steve asks.

There’s a pause. “Why?” Bucky asks.

“Everyone else is asleep and I’m bored,” Steve lies.

“You’re… bored?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah,” Steve says.

“Fine,” Bucky says, “but keep the light off.”

“I don’t have a flashlight,” Steve says, pulling open the curtains and climbing into Bucky’s bed.

“What’s a flashlight?” Bucky asks.

Steve levels him with a look. “You’ve been around for eleven years and you don’t know what a  _flashlight_  is?” he asks.

Bucky shakes his head. Steve can just make out the outline of his body in the darkness, but it’s not hard to tell that he’s been crying. The streaks of tears on his cheeks shine a little from the little light in the room, and he’s still sniffing a bit. Every so often he reaches up to brush off his cheeks. Steve doesn’t say a word about any of it.

“I haven’t been in the muggle world much,” Bucky says.

“It’s not so bad,” he says. “We have flashlights.”

“I still don’t know what a flashlight is,” Bucky says, a little frustrated. Then he adds, “And you’re a wizard. You’r not a muggle.”

“I grew up with muggles,” Steve says before realizing his mistake. People have told him that not everyone is okay with wizards who have muggle parents like Steve. A lot of the people who aren’t okay with it are purebloods like Bucky.

“But  _you’re_  a wizard,” Bucky says. “Nothing wrong with muggles, but you’re one of us, even if we don’t have flashlights.”

“Flashlights are little tubes that have a lightbulb in one end that shines light. Usually they’re powered with batteries,” Steve says, not realizing how hard it can be to describe a flashlight, even though he’s used one a hundred times.

Bucky pauses. “So, it’s a muggle ‘lumos’?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Steve says.

“Huh,” Bucky says.

There’s another crack of thunder and Bucky jumps. He practically jumps out of the bed, he’s so surprised. And he makes just the quietest of scared sounds.

“Scary,” Steve says.

“Mm-hmm,” Bucky manages to say.

“You know, my mom explained the science of lightning to me once,” Steve says. “You wanna hear it?”

“The science?” Bucky asks.

“Like, why it happens and why it’s not as bad as it sounds or looks. Thunder and lightning actually do some good things. It helps the plants grow.”

“You can tell me,” Bucky says in a quiet voice.

“Alright,” Steve says, “so first, lightning comes from…”

— —

Eventually, Bucky nods off while Steve talks.

— —

Fifteen years later, Steve slips into bed. Bucky is under the covers already and not moving, though Steve’s pretty sure that he’s not asleep with the storm raging outside. It had been a long day at the Ministry and he doesn’t bother even getting into pajamas before he wraps himself around Bucky. “Hey,” he says.

“Hi,” Bucky says in a small voice. Bucky still hates thunderstorms, even after all this time. He deals a little better than he did as a kid, but when he’s home with Steve, he doesn’t put on a brave face. “How was your day?”

“Boring,” Steve says, pulling the blankets over their heads like they’re in a tent. He pulls out his wand and lights it up. “I’m happy to see you,” he adds, smiling.

“Not as happy as I am to see you,” Bucky says with a self-deprecating snort.

“Want me to tell you about the science?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods. “If you don’t mind,” he says.

Steve leans forward and presses a lingering kiss to Bucky’s forehead. “Not at all,” he says before he begins telling the same stories his mom did all those years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/163352067349/were-both-in-gryffindor-tower-and-everyone-is)


	27. A Very Good Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nevermindirah asked: "Prompt idea: nonbinary Sam Wilson going about their day and not getting misgendered even once, and maybe also getting to pet a soft dog!"

Sam walks into the V.A. expecting business as usual. Sure, it’s their birthday, but Sam never makes a big deal out of it. They just want to have a nice day, eat the cupcake their mom bought them at lunch, then get home, take off their pants, and watch a Keanu Reeves movie with Steve. It’s not going to be the best birthday Sam’s ever had, but they think it’ll be a pretty good one.

They don’t expect the banner hanging up in the V.A. entry, or the group of people standing underneath it with a big ass cake and grins on their faces. “Happy birthday Sam!” they shout in unison.

“What? What is this?” Sam asks, unable to keep the grin off their face as they approach the group.

Steve is standing at the front of the group, a big ol’ present in his hands, wrapped in purple wrapping paper and topped with a gold bow. “Happy birthday, Sam,” he says before handing the present to one of Sam’s coworkers and reaching out to wrap Sam in a big hug. Sam pats Steve’s back a few times, then gives him a quick peck on the cheek before pulling away.

“You organize all this?” Sam asks, keeping their arm around Steve’s shoulders.

Steve shrugs. “It was nothing,” he mutters, looking down at his feet.

Sam nudges him in the side. “Not nothing,” they say. They look out at the group. “Thanks everyone.”

They look at the small crowd. There’s Bucky and Natasha, Clint and Rhodey, all fighting over where to put the candles on the cake. There’s also a bunch of members from their ‘Transitioning After Discharge’ group, as well as the LGBT Vets group they run. There are also other V.A. staff members and a few of the other vets Sam’s talked to or hung out with during their time at the V.A. It’s a big crowd, and it feels kinda good that they’re all there for him.

Sam grins. This totally beats a Keanu Reeves movie.

“The cake is chocolate with a raspberry filling,” Steve says.

“Raspberries are my favorite,” Sam says.

“I know,” Steve says with a little smile.

Sam pulls Steve back in for another hug. “Thanks,” they say quietly in Steve’s ear.

“Happy birthday,” Steve says again.

— —

Sam spends the rest of the day surrounded by their friends and colleagues, eating delicious cake — Steve must’ve found the best bakery in D.C. for the occasion — and talking about all of the happy, hopeful things they want to accomplish in the next year. All-in-all, it’s a damn good day, and only gets better after Steve takes Sam to their favorite Italian restaurant for dinner, then back to their apartment.

Sam and Steve have been living together for a few months now, in a nice walk-up next to a green park with a nice jogging trail. Sam loves their apartment, and they love Steve, too. It’s a good thing they’ve got going, and when they walk through the door, Sam’s ready to take off their pants and curl up next to Steve on the couch. Maybe even watch that Keanu Reeves move. What Sam isn’t expecting the ball of fluff that comes barreling towards them.

The dog is an Australian Shepherd, an old pup whose adoption page Sam has been staring at longingly for the past few weeks. “Shiela?” Sam asks as they bend down to greet the dog. The dog begins licking their face.

“She’s yours,” Steve says. Sam looks up at Steve, one hand still in Shiela’s fur. “Ours.” He pauses. “If you want her, of course.”

“I thought you weren’t ready for a dog,” Sam says, stroking Shiela’s soft fur. She’s even more gorgeous in person than she was online.

“I’ve thought a lot about it, and about us,” Steve says, coming down to Sam and Shiela’s level. Steve swipes a hand through Shiela’s fur. “I want to make a life together,” he says. “Shiela can be the start.”

Sam smiles. “You’re kind of a sap, you know that?” they ask.

“You wanna take Shiela for a walk before it gets dark out?” Steve asks.

Sam nods. “Hell yeah,” they say.

It’s Sam’s best birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/163471015059/your-offer-to-write-nice-things-for-trans-people) or donate to the [Transgender Law Center](https://transgenderlawcenter.org/donate).


	28. C107

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thegrumpiestunicorn asked: "I don't normally do these prompt things, but “I don’t mean to sound paranoid but I’m pretty sure you’re a serial killer" sounds really interesting. No pressure!"

Bucky watches from his window as the guy who lives in C107 climbs up the fire escape in about five steps. He pauses when he sees Bucky and gives him a little smile and a salute. Bucky forces a smile back.

Because, despite the guy from C107’s blond hair, charming smile, and generally pleasant demeanor, Bucky’s pretty sure that he’s a  _serial killer_.

— —

C107 moved in three weeks ago during the middle of the night, because that’s what serial killers do. They come in the middle of the night, murder everyone on their floor, and leave before anyone can find their bodies. It doesn’t matter that C107 smiles shyly at him in the mailroom or helps the old lady in E202 with her groceries; Bucky knows what’s up. He knows that C107 sneaks out almost every night and doesn’t come back until morning, and never through the front door. Once or twice, Bucky’s seen him covered with blood.

So the guy’s a serial killer, and Bucky’s not sure what to do about that.

— —

There’s a knock on Bucky’s door.

Bucky texts Darcy:  _It’s the serial killer and I’m going to die._

Darcy texts back:  _have fun!_

It’s not a helpful answer.

Bucky takes a deep breath and walks towards the door. It’s better that he just opens it up and accepts his fate. It’ll be hard enough for the landlord to rent out his apartment again after everyone finds out that a murder took place; he may as well not make any messy clean-up bills by having the serial killer knock down the door or something like that. Makes things simpler in the long run.

He opens it.

C107 is standing there, shirt covered in blood. “Hi,” he says with a bit of a sheepish smile.

“Oh,” Bucky says, then promptly passes out, because if there’s one thing that Bucky isn’t good with, it’s blood.

— —

He wakes up on his couch, underneath a blanket, and with the fluffiest pillow in his apartment beneath his bed. He does not wake up in Heaven (or Hell, if all of those fire and brimstone ‘homosexuals are killing America’ preachers are to be believed) because C107 killed him.

Bucky blinks a few times, then hears C107 on the phone. “No, that’s not… I don’t care if he knows who I am! That’s the point!”

Bucky closes his eyes again. It’s not worth it. He’s going to die.

“Well, what was I supposed to do, Tony? March into his apartment in my Cap uniform and commandeer his laundry machine?”

That’s… kinky.

“No, no, I’ll… I don’t want to wake him up! I’ll talk to you later, Tony.”

Bucky opens his eyes again, just to be a little sneaky, but of course C107 is already looking at him. “Hi there!” he says, far too perky for someone with a shirt covered in blood.

“Uh, hey,” Bucky says, pushing himself up.

“Easy now,” C107 says, rushing over to the couch. “Don’t force yourself,” he says.

“Why would you care?” Bucky asks, a bit hysterical as C107 reaches out to touch Bucky’s forehead with the back of his hand. “Since you’re here to murder me, and all.”

C107 drops his hand. “ _What_?” he asks, incredulous.

“I’ve seen you! Crawling through the window at night! You’re going to kill me and honestly? I’m not prepared for it. I have… four things to live for. At least. Maybe five.”

C107 just stares.

“Six?” Bucky offers. “I’m not sure I can list more than six, to tell the truth.”

“I’m… I’m not going to  _kill_  you,” he says.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “I have a hard time believing that.”

“No, no! I’m… I needed to borrow someone’s laundry machine and I saw you were up. That’s all.”

Bucky blinks. “You have your own in your unit.”

“It’s busted,” C107 says.

“Because you put bloody things in it all the time?” Bucky asks.

C107 snorts. “No, because the last resident and their partner had  _relations_  on it and busted it.”

“Go Kevin,” Bucky says.

C107 laughs. “ _Anyhow_ ,” he says when he’s done, “I’m not here to kill you.”

“That’s a relief.”

“I mean, I have  _killed_  people before,” Bucky’s eyes go wide then C107 says in a rush, “but most of them were Nazis.”

“I’m not following here,” Bucky says, throat dry.

C107 sighs. “Okay, it’s. I’m. Captain America?” he says, wincing. “And I was just wondering if I could borrow your washing machine.”

Bucky nods. “Alright, okay, that’s…”

And it’s a good thing he’s already on the couch, because he passes out again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/166483756374/i-dont-normally-do-these-prompt-things-but-i)


	29. A Beautiful Partnership

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 0n-your-left asked: "ooooh, from the recent dialogue prompts, 50 (People are watching) for Stucky!"

When they sit down, Bucky spots no less than four people pointing their iPhones in their direction.

As they order, their server stutters and drops their order pad on the table. They practically squeak when Steve hands it back to them.

Between their appetizers — potato skins and fried mozzarella — and their entrées, an entire  _tray_  full of drinks appears at the table.

“Compliments of, uh, well, most everyone here,” their server says with a little smile before setting down drink after drink in front of Steve.

Bucky stares. He can barely get a guy to buy him a ginger ale, let alone a glass of Dom Perignon, which Bucky doesn’t even think is on the  _menu_  at this sports bar.

When their server leaves, Bucky leans in. “Steve,” he says.

Steve leans in a little, smiling. “Bucky,” he says, mimicking.

Bucky frowns. He’s being  _serious_. Of course, in their two weeks of Tinder conversations, Bucky’s rarely been serious, so he doesn’t really expect Steve to pick up on the intricacies of his personality quite yet.

“Are you a porn star?” he asks.

Steve’s eyes go wide. “ _What_?” he asks, and Bucky almost wishes that he was drinking one of the fifteen fancy drinks sitting in front of him, because he’s almost sure that Steve would’ve done a spit take.

“People are  _staring_ ,” Bucky says. “You said you were in the Army. Unless you worked with Snowden, I don’t think anyone would be quite that awed by a soldier.”

Steve chuckles. “I think some red-blooded American patriots would feel  _very_  offended by that statement.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I know you’re a socialist,” he says. “I saw that on your Tinder profile. Don’t think I’m not observant like that.”

“Not observant enough,” Steve mutters as he reaches for his water glass, all innocence.

Bucky narrows his eyes. “What do you mean?” he asks.

Steve shrugs. “Nothing,” he says and smiles before he takes a sip of his water.

“So, have you starred in anything good?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah,  _Stars and Straps_. It’s about an Army Captain disciplining a private with… his privates.”

Bucky is glad he wasn’t drinking anything, because if he had, he  _definitely_ would’ve done a spit take.

“I want to watch that,” Bucky says.

Steve grins. “I can give you a preview tonight, if you’d like,” he says.

Before Bucky can formulate any sort of coherent response that would sound cooler than ‘ _definitely, yes, please_ ’ a girl in an actual Brownies vest comes to their table.

“Uh, excuse me, Mr. Rogers?” she asks, looking up through long, adorable lashes. An older woman — her mother, given their resemblance — lingers behind her, gives an encouraging smile.

“Hi there!” Steve says, smiling like an altar boy. “What’s your name?” he asks.

The girl sort of wiggles. “Aya,” she says after a long pause.

“Hi Aya, that’s a beautiful name,” Steve says. She looks down at her toes, grinning. Honestly, if Steve complimented him like that, Bucky would do the same. “What can I do for you?”

“Uh, well, my mama, she says that if I asked nicely you may take a picture with me? I have…” she points to one of the patches on her vest. “I got this one for raising money after the thing in New York!” she says. “I raised more than two hundred dollars,” she adds, grinning.

The patch is round and is just the Captain America shield, an icon instantly recognizable to almost any red-blooded American Patriot.

Bucky looks at the path. He looks at Steve. He looks back down to the patch.

Steve smirks at him.

Of course, it’s only for a moment before he’s complimenting Aya and taking a picture with her and just generally being adorable.

When she and her mother leave, Steve looks up at him.

“So,” Bucky says, “you’re a liar?”

“What?” Steve asks, face falling.

Bucky keeps his face completely neutral. “I mean,  _Stars and Straps_.That was a lie.”

“I… I guess,” Steve says, brow furrowed.

Bucky shrugs. “Well, I guess we have no choice, then.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asks.

“I’ll have to produce it myself. I didn’t realize I had such a star in my midst. We’re going to make  _millions_ ,” Bucky says, grinning at last.

Steve smiles back, then raises his water glass. “I think this is the start of a beautiful partnership he says.

Bucky picks one of Steve’s drinks at random, raises it, and clinks it against Steve’s.

“Cheers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/166484922579/ooooh-from-the-recent-dialogue-prompts-50)


	30. Tsum Tsum Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "I don’t want you to stay over, only I don’t know how to tell you it’s because I have a mountain of teddy bears on my bed, not because I don’t like you."

There are still days that Steve still can’t believe he’s going out with Bucky Barnes.

If anyone told him three years ago that he’d be going out with Bucky Barnes he would’ve laughed in their face. Hell, if anyone told him three years ago that Bucky Barnes, the most popular guy in their high school class, would go to the same college as him, walk onto campus and join just about every club for queer people on campus, Steve would’ve laughed in their face.

But here they are, three years later, four months together, and going strong. Except.

“We can’t go to my place, Stevie.”

Steve pulls away. “Nat’s got Sharon over tonight, so we can’t go to my place, either,” he says.

Bucky smiles a little sadly and says, “Then I guess parting is such sweet sorrow.”

Steve rolls his eyes but leans in for one last goodnight kiss before he goes.

And tries not to think about why Bucky never invites him over.

— —

In the end, it’s Sam who invites him over to drink cheap beer and watch Project Runway. He texted Bucky to ask if it was okay, and he said yes, but he’d be out the whole time. Steve tries not to think that’s weird and heads over with a six-pack and a rooting interest. He doesn’t mean to fall asleep on the couch, but he does. Sam just left him with a blanket and a pillow to go chill with Riley at some point, which is valid.

Bucky must’ve come home at some point, because when Steve opens his eyes the door to Bucky’s room is open.

Groggy, Steve stands up and sort of shuffles over to say hi. He doesn’t know whether Bucky saw him or not (he was kind of lumpy underneath the blanket and Sam turned out the lights), but he feels like he should, at least, say hi.

He gets to Bucky’s doorway and freezes.

Bucky is sitting on his bed and after he looks up at Steve, he freezes as well.

“Uh, hi,” Steve says, eyes wide as he takes in the room.

“Oh God,” Bucky says.

Because Bucky’s room is covered with shelves. And those shelves are covered in small, bean-like stuffed animals of various Disney characters.

“Tsum tsums?” Steve asks.

Bucky swallows, then nods. “Tsum tsums,” he says. He kind of winces. “Becca started getting them for me after I came out. And then…”

“They multiplied?” Steve says.

He nods. “And this is why I didn’t want you over.”

“Because you were afraid I was going to want to play with that totally sick limited edition set of Fantasia tsum tsums?”

“More that you would judge a grown-man having a dorm room full of stuffed animals.”

Steve snorts. “Hell no,” he says. “Well, I will judge you if you don’t stack them all into a pile on your bed and let me drop into them like the king of the tsums.”

Bucky grins. “I love you,” he says.

Steve laughs. “I love you, too.”


	31. Relief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "i know you said no more prompts so it's totally cool if you ignore this forever BUT if some other day it strikes your fancy: "I butt-dialed you as I was talking to my friend about their dead relationship, but you thought I was talking about ours." with steve/bucky would be *chef's kiss*"

“Steve,  _Steve_ , I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, I didn’t—“

“Bucky, please, you don’t have to.”

They’re standing outside of The Guardian, a campus bar that they and their friends frequent pretty regularly.

Dot had been kissing someone Bucky’d never seen before. He assumed she was cheating. She hadn’t been.

“I feel like such a shit for tellin’ you, and now you’re broken up, and—“

“Bucky,” Steve says, slumping down and putting his forehead on Bucky’s shoulder. “Stop beating yourself up, okay?”

“Steve…” Bucky says, reaching up and rubbing Steve’s back a little. He feels just a little but guilty when he’s physical like this, because of those pesky feelings he’s had since they were kids. He used to think they’d go away at some point. So far, no luck.

“Honestly, Buck. It was…” Steve sighs again. “It was kind of a relief.”

“What?” Bucky asks.

Steve straightens up. “It was kind of a relief. I hadn’t been happy. I knew that. You knew that, too. It was wrong of me to assume she’d been cheating, and she was right to chuck me. But it’s such a relief knowing we’re not together anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says, unsure of what else to say.

Steve smiles sadly, shakes his head. “Don’t be. It’s… Can I say something stupid?” “You’ve never held back before.”

Steve laughs. “God, Buck.” He pauses. “I just can’t find anyone who makes me feel the way you do.”

Bucky’s stomach drops. “What?” he asks, voice hoarse.

“It’s not fair. I know that. I shouldn’t be telling you, and I hope you’ll still be my friend after this, but… I just compare everyone to you,” he says, voice cracking. “It’s not fair to them, or to you, or to me, but I just thought that someday I’d find someone I click with as much as I click with you, and I just… it hasn’t happened yet. I’m worried it never will.”

He buries his face in Bucky’s neck, and he shakes a little, like he’s crying. Bucky wraps his arms around Steve on instinct, remembering the times when he was smaller, and he could wrap his arms around so easily. Now he fills them, warm and solid.

“I love you,” Bucky says.

He feels Steve’s small gasp and smiles.

“It’s not just on your end. I didn’t ever think you felt the same. If I knew, or even if I knew how dramatic you’d be about it, I’d’ve told you.”

Steve looks up, red-faced and teary. “You love me?” he asks in a small voice.

Bucky nods. “Yeah, I do.”

“Oh,” Steve says.

“Here,” Bucky says, fishing his handkerchief out of his back pocket and handing it to Steve. “Wipe off that snot, then give me a kiss.”

Steve grins. “Really?” he asks.

“Really.”

And they do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/167685105644/i-know-you-said-no-more-prompts-so-its-totally)


	32. But I Don't Want To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "My favorite fanfiction trope would be historical AU’s, and Stucky?"

Steve helps Bucky into his jacket and tails, then holds up the velvet box that holds the pair of onyx cufflinks his bride-to-be’s father gave to him that morning. A wedding gift. Something to welcome Bucky Barnes to the family.

Bucky looks at the box, then up to Steve with wide blue eyes.

“I don’t want to put them on,” he says in a thin voice. It’s the first time either of them has spoken since Steve came up to help Bucky get dressed.

“Sir—“

“Please,” Bucky says, voice cracking.

Steve exhales. “Bucky,” he says. Bucky nods, just the lightest dip of his chin, and Steve continues. “You can do this,” he says.

Bucky blinks a few times. “But I don’t want to,” he says with a thin-lipped smile.

“They’re all waiting for you.” Steve hates the way his voice sounds so small.

“Let them wait,” he says. “They’ll have the rest of my life. I can have just a few more moments with you.”

Steve promised himself he would be strong. He promised himself that he would do better than this.

Still, he finds himself closing the space between the two of them. He holds onto the lapel of Bucky’s jacket. “You look so handsome,” he says.

“So do you,” Bucky says. Steve looks up as a stray tear falls down his cheek. He reaches up and wipes it away. “I love you,” Bucky says. “And they can’t take that away.”

Steve lets out the smallest of chuckles. “No, they can’t,” he says, before leaning in for a final kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/168133406584/my-favorite-fanfiction-trope-would-be-historical)


	33. Chafed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jewishcap asked: "reluctant bedsharing that dissolves into cuddling... my one true weakness... maybe with sambucky? if you're still doing this!! i hope your night looks up, love <3"

“I’ll sleep in the bathtub,” Bucky says.

Sam rolls his eyes. “You will not,” he says. “Your arm will get cold and then  _you’ll_  get cold and then you’ll be back out here complaining in about twenty minutes, ruining my sleep. You’re gonna sleep in this bed, okay?”

“Then where’ll—“

“ _I will also be sleeping in this bed_ ,” Sam says.

Bucky looks at Sam for a moment, then shrugs. “I didn’t bring pajamas,” he says.

“Please Lord, tell me you have boxers.”

“Boxer-briefs,” Bucky says without a beat.

Sam raises his eyebrows. “Hope you like to chafe overnight because you will not be taking those off.”

— —

Sam’s eyes go wide at 3:22 AM when a cold, metal arm wraps itself around his chest. Bucky snuggles in to Sam’s back and exhales a wet, hot breath right on Sam’s neck.

Sam cringes.

He’s trying to figure a way out of this scenario without suddenly surprising the Winter Soldier when Bucky snuggles in even closer.

“Love you Sammy,” he mutters in a sleepy voice.

And Sam decides maybe he won’t extricate himself from Bucky’s arms. It’s not so bad, and if nothing else, he’ll have something to poke fun at in the morning.

Except for, maybe, that last sentence. That one Sam will keep for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/168136534279/reluctant-bedsharing-that-dissolves-into)


	34. Gas Mileage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "“I don’t think we can be friends anymore.”"

“Bucky, stop,” Steve says, following Bucky into his apartment.

“No, I just…” He drops his keys — well, more kind of shoves his keys — onto the coffee table next to the door, then runs his hands through his hair. “I need to find something,” he says.

“Find what?” Steve asks. “What could you possibly need right now?”

“I don’t know,” he says, turning away from Steve and looking around his apartment. He’s been there for a few months now, but it’s still got an unpacked look about it, a framed map leaning against a wall over here, a cardboard box filled with books over there. It looks like Bucky never unpacked the life that he moved from Steve’s apartment six months ago.

Steve exhales through his nostrils, trying to calm himself down. But he’s always had a quick temper. “I don’t see how you can find anything in this place.”

“That is… it’s…” He runs his hand through his hair again, and a vicious part of Steve is glad. He knows that it’s one of Bucky’s nervous ticks, something he does when he’s frustrated or uncomfortable. After that stunt, he should be uncomfortable. He groans, then whirls back around. “Stop it,” he says.

“Stop what?” Steve asks, straighening up.

“Acting like you’re…  _disappointed_  in me.”

“But I am.”

Bucky shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “You’re full of shit,” he says. He turns around again and stalks into the apartment. Steve takes a few steps into the apartment, but doesn’t follow Bucky or offer to help as he searches for whatever it is that he wants. Instead, he crosses his arms and watches Bucky with a frown, half-convinced that he’s trying to find a bottle of vodka or an old dime bag. But he doesn’t. He emerges from a box a minute or two later holding a crumpled piece of paper and looking triumphant.

“What’s that?” Steve asks, raising an eyebrow as Bucky approaches him.

“Stupid,” Bucky says, closing the space between them and shoving the paper out at Steve.

“Don’t give me this,” Steve says as he takes the paper. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I  _can’t_ ,” Bucky says, his voice breaking. He looks down, looking pained. “I can’t… I can’t  _say_  it. I’ve tried, Steve. I’ve tried a hundred times, including before our dates tonight.”

“That’s what you wanted to talk about?” Steve asks.

“Do you really think I wanted to analyze your Honda Civic’s gas mileage, Steve? No. No, I didn’t. And it gets shitty gas mileage!”

“It’s  _fine_ ,” Steve says, though he knows that the Honda Civic’s about ten years past its prime.

“Read it,” Bucky says.

“I just want to know why you acted like you did,” Steve says.

“I was a jerk,” Bucky says. “Both to your date and to mine, but if you would read the letter you’d understand.”

Steve takes a deep breath, lifts the letter up, and begins to read.

His throat goes dry.

“I don’t think we can be friends anymore,” he reads aloud, eyes filling with tears. He looks up. “What the hell, Buck?”

“No, no, keep reading,” Bucky says, moving towards Steve. He takes Steve’s hand that’s holding the letter and pulls it back up. “Keep reading,” he says, looking up at Steve with wide, vulnerable,  _scared_  eyes like Steve has never seen from him before. He has to just look for a moment.

Steve’s heart thumps wildly in his chest — if Bucky doesn’t want him around anymore, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. Bucky’s always been his person, as much a part of himself as any other aspect of his being. His breathing gets shallow, and he starts feeling like he did when he was smaller, when there wasn’t enough air in the world for his lungs.

“Read,” Bucky begs.

Steve looks down at the page.

And subsequently drops it.

“You love me?” he asks, looking up.

“That’s why I can’t do it. When I realized six months ago, I tried, but I can’t—”

Steve pulls him in and kisses him. Bucky seems paralyzed for a moment, stiff and scared. But then he gets the picture, clawing at Steve’s back, pulling him in close, and opening his mouth, kissing back with sloppy enthusiasm. If Steve weren’t so focused on this moment, on this great ball of emotion in the back of his throat, on the feeling of Bucky kissing him. He’s imagined this moment a million times since he was a kid and first realized he was in love with his best friend. The reality of Bucky’s lips on his is so much better.

“Wait, wait,” Bucky says, pulling away from Steve. Steve’s heart drops as Bucky looks up at him. “What are we? Is this…?”

“I’d marry you tomorrow if you asked,” Steve says, then shuts his mouth shut quickly, mortified.

Bucky’s face spreads into the widest grin he’s ever seen. “Steve!” he says, knocking shoulders. “I love you. Take me on a date first.”

Steve leans in and kisses Bucky’s hair, shutting his eyes and just letting himself be for a moment. “I love you, too,” he says. “Be my boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “I’ll do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/169210412849/from-the-short-prompt-list-stevebucky-the-last)


	35. Marvels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A birthday fic for stevebarnacles that includes long-lost lovers reuniting and a dog.

“I do,” Bucky said, slipping a licorice ring onto Steve Rogers’ thin finger.

Steve grinned in that doofy way of his, showing off his braces. “I do, too,” he said.

“It wasn’t your turn,” Sharon, their counselor, said, rolling her eyes. She officiated the ceremony along with Sam, the cool counselor from Cabin 4. Someone told Bucky that they were dating, but everyone knew that counselors dating was against camp rules.

“Okay, well, make it my turn,” Steve said, tapping his foot with impatience.

“Calm down,” Sam said, laughing. “You’re gonna have the rest of your lives, so enjoy the moment. Let it sink in.”

Bucky watched as the sun set on the lake behind Steve’s head. It was the last night of camp and he was marrying his best friend.

Best of all, he knew that since Steve couldn’t eat sweets, Bucky would be eating both of those licorice rings tonight.

— —

Fifteen years later to the day, Bucky sits alone at a bar in Bushwick.

“Think he’s coming?” the bartender asks, looking at the limp garnish left on Bucky’s empty plate of calamari. He’d ordered it after waiting a half hour for his late date. An hour later, the plate is empty.

Bucky sighs. “I should cash out,” he says.

“It’s on the house,” the bartender says with a sympathetic nod.

Bucky sighs. “Somehow, this feels more pathetic, but I’ll take it. Thanks,” he says before standing up and heading out.

It’s a beautiful night, and there’s a part of Bucky that doesn’t want to go home, sit his in apartment, and think about how he’s so romantically repulsive that his blind date didn’t even bother showing up before deciding that Bucky wasn’t worth his time.

He wishes love were as simple as a marriage ceremony at camp.

Honestly, he doesn’t usually take blind dates. But the guy’s name was Steve, and he felt like it was a sign. Apparently, it wasn’t.

Thinking of camp makes him crave licorice, so he heads to a nearby bodega for a pack of Twizzlers he can eat on his way to the beach, where he will wander around angstily for forty-five minutes before going home and watching whatever is on the Food Network before falling asleep.

He walks inside. He purchases the Twizzlers. He walks back outside. And a large large brown and white dog comes bounding over, jumps up, grabs the Twizzlers from his hand and starts prancing around.

“What the  _fuck_?” Bucky mutters as he chases the dog around. The dog is wearing a collar and leash, and Bucky gets the feeling that this was a walk gone awry.

After a frankly comical — think  _Yakety Sax_  music — chase around the block, Bucky manages to grab the dog’s leash. The dog stops, drops the Twizzlers, and jumps up onto Bucky, trying to lick his face.

“Oh jeez,” Bucky says. “Lemme see that collar…” he mutters, trying to grab the dog’s collar as he hears a voice from not too far away holler, “MARVEL?”

Bucky looks up. “IS MARVEL A DOG?” he hollers back.

“MARVEL IS A DOG,” the person yells.

“IS MARVEL BROWN AND WHITE?” Bucky asks back loudly.

The dog, Marvel, is staring up at Bucky with a wagging tail. He obviously knows his name. “That your dad?” Bucky asks.

Marvel does not say anything because Marvel is a dog.

“YES, MARVEL IS BROWN. SORT OF. HE’S AN ORANGY TAN.”

“I’VE GOT MARVEL HERE,” Bucky yells.

“WHERE IS HERE?”

“BY THE BODEGA,” Bucky yells, voice going hoarse.

There’s no response for about forty-five seconds, so Bucky leans down and pats Marvel’s head. “You’re gonna be in so much trouble,” he coos. “Yes you are, you’re gonna be in so much trouble you big, beautiful boy.”

Then he sees a tall man running toward them at a sprint. He skids to a halt next to them, then falls to his knees. “Marvel,” he says with wide eyes as he catches his breath.

Marvel jumps on him, licking his face. “You’re in so much trouble,” the man says, but he wraps his arms around Marvel and holds him.

Then he looks up. “Thanks…” he says, eyes going wide. “Bucky?” he asks, almost breathless.

“Steve,” he says. “You owe me a new bag of Twizzlers.”

— —

He looks a lot different than the twelve year old Bucky married by the lake. And he looks a lot different than the Steve that Bucky was supposed to meet at the bar. But to Bucky, as they walk hand-in-hand-in-leash down the beach by Coney Island, he looks perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/169755472149/marvels)


	36. Starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "Have you ever thought of Unseelie and Seelie Fae princes having to be married to unite the courts because of a contract made by ancient royals that no longer live. Yet the old fae magic still holds up. And the princes just slowly fall for each other. The Seelie all bright and happy and a whirlwind while the Unseelie is wary but tries to stay polite. {Fill in who belongs to which court}
> 
> So, there’s are two main courts. The Unseelie court (UC) and the Seelie court (SC). The UC holds those who are winter fae and autumn fae while the SC holds those who are summer and spring fae. So main courts + their mini courts if you will. - SC fae are known to be tricksters, bright and bubbly. They prefer to get their way through trickery and pranks, the live trouble. UC fae are much darker, much more cruel and stern. They get their way in straightforward, forceful manner."

_Art by kenobrea._

 

James meets him the first time when they’re children.

“He will be your husband,” his mother, the Queen of the Unseelie Court, whispers in his ear as James watches the boy play in the meadow below. He radiates warmth, with hair like corn silk that blows in the gentle breeze. He lifts a hand and the fallen leaves around him start to swirl around him, creating a swirling shield around him of yellow, orange, and red. The boy laughs with glee. They’re the same age, but there seems to be so much more life in this boy than in James. He’s sunlight incarnate.

“Must I?” James asks, unable to look away. “He looks exhausting.”

“It’s for the good of our people,” she says, putting a graceful hand on his shoulder. “Every one thousand years, to shore up our alliances, to make sure we are safe from the forces that would destroy us.”

“The humans,” James says, watching as the Seelie Prince sends his leaves flying to the opposite side of the meadow.

His mother hums in agreement. “His mother says he is a bright young boy. Starting in the fall, he will come live with us here. In the spring…” her voice falters for just a moment, and Bucky looks up at her. She is still looking out at the meadow, but her grip gets a little tighter. “You’ll spend the summer with them.”

“Mother—“

“It’s what’s done,” she says. Her word is finality; her word is law. “One year spent with him, split between our Courts. Then one year here alone. After ten of these cycles you will be married.”

He looks back down at the boy in the meadow. His mother, the Queen of the Seelie court, arrives in a dress of smooth green. She picks him up and spins him around, and he squeals with delight.

James tries not to resent him.

— —

The Prince, Steven, spends most of the fall and winter weeping in his quarters. What time he doesn’t spend weeping, he spends alone, wandering the orchards. He does not pay his respects to Bucky’s mother. He does not participate in the Unseelie Court’s festivals or pageants.

Each night, James brings a tray of food to Steven’s chambers. When he knocks on the door and recieves no answer. When he calls Steven’s name and tells him who it is, he recieves no answer. So each night, James sets the tray down in front of the chamber door, then leaves. When he returns an hour later, the tray will be empty, and waiting for him. Others bring food during other times of the day — James’ days are filled with obligations — but he comes every night.

On their final night at the Unseelie Court, he returns and sees Prince Steven sitting outside the door next to the empty tray. He looks up at Bucky with wide blue eyes. They seem almost sunken in his pale face. He looks like a shadow of the person he was when he first came to the Unseelie Court.

“Prince James,” he says, not standing up.

James doesn’t mind. He sits down next to Steven. “It’s good to see your face.”

Steven hangs his head. “I’ve messed this all up.”

“Maybe,” James says. Steven looks up at him. “But you’ll have other chances.”

“What you must think of me…”

“I don’t know you,” James says. “I’ll make my judgments when I  _know_  you.”

“I’m Steve,” he says.

“I’m James.”

— —

By the third time he comes to the Seelie Court, James is Bucky.

Bucky doesn’t remember when Steve starts calling him Bucky. He thinks it happened early in his first trip to the Seelie Court. That time is a blur in his memory; each day was filled with so many people and parties and wine, and everything felt so warm and overwhelming to someone who had lived so long in the cold. But each night Steve came to his room and sat with him, sometimes talking, sometimes in total silence, just being there while Bucky adjusted to life in the Seelie Court.

At some point, Steve began calling him Bucky. Bucky wishes he remembered when and where it started. But he can’t. All he knows that Bucky is a part of him now, as deeply intertwined with his identity as Steve is.

Because Steve is.

— —

On his sixth trip to the Unseelie Court, Steve bounds out of his carriage toward Bucky and envelops him in a tight embrace, even lifting him off of his feet. Bucky’s eyes go wide, looking down at Steve, then over to his mother, standing there with the rest of the greeting party.

To his surprise, she has just the smallest smile as she watches the two of them.

“Steve,” Bucky says, and a moment later, Steve puts him down. He’s beaming and Bucky is surprised to be looking at him. “Who even are you?” he asks.

“I’m taller than you now,” Steve says, ruffling Bucky’s hair. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

“For you,” Bucky mutters.

Steve bellows out a laugh, then wraps his arms around Bucky and hugs him again. “I missed you,” he whispers into Bucky’s ear.

A shiver runs down Bucky’s spine.

— —

“I wrote out a whole list,” Steve says that night as they walk through the orchards together. Steve still isn’t totally comfortable in the Unseelie Court — the same way that Bucky feels about the Seelie Court — but since his first visit, he’s gotten more adventurous. He talks to everyone in Court, teaches them about Seelie Court traditions and makes everyone laugh and smile in a way that feels new and needed in the Unseelie halls. But Steve’s favorite part of the Unseelie Court are the apple orchards, with the grey trees that bear sweet and tart fruit year-round.

“A list of what?” Bucky asks.

“Of things that happened during our year apart that I wanted to tell you about.” He reaches up and plucks a red apple from one of the trees. He grins at Bucky, then takes a bite. A moment later, he tosses the apple to Bucky. Bucky takes a bite for himself, but he’s barely able to pay attention to the flavor; he just watches Steve watch him eat. He tosses the apple back.

“What’s on the list?” Bucky asks.

Steve shrugs. “It’s mostly dumb stuff. ‘Oh, this happened. Oh, she said this. Oh, I missed you today.’” He doesn’t look Bucky in the eye as he says it.

“You missed me?” Bucky asks, trailing his fingers along a nearby tree.

Steve takes another bite of his apple, then nods. “I wrote every night, wishing I could talk to you instead.”

Bucky exhales. “I missed you, too,” he says.

Steve grins, then takes a final bite.

Bucky wonders what it would be like to taste Steve’s sweet lips.

— —

When Bucky returns to the Unseelie Court after his ninth trip, he feels unmoored. He floats from task to task, thinking of Steve, knowing that this will be his final year in the Unseelie Court alone. So many things will change. He doesn’t know what will happen.

One night, a few weeks after his return, his mother comes to his chambers.

“You’re not here,” she says.

It’s not worth lying. “No,” he says, “I’m not.”

She reaches out and brushes his dark hair away from his eyes. “You’re with your Seelie Prince?”

Bucky laughs, a little rueful. “I wish I were,” he says in a dark voice.

“So you are inside your own head?” she asks.

He exhales; he nods. “I can’t seem to find myself lately.”

She nods. “You love your Seelie Prince,” she says with a small smile.

“It seems so unfair,” he says.

“Why is that?” she asks.

He swallows hard. “He’s sunshine. I’m…” Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t know what I am anymore.”

“Starlight,” she says. “I have always looked into your eyes and seen all of the stars in the heavens. Your Seelie Prince must see that, too.”

“I can’t be sure,” Bucky says.

“I can,” his mother tells him. She leans down and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

— —

On the final night of his tenth visit to the Seelie Court, Steve knocks on his chamber door. It surprises Bucky, since Steve did away with courtesies like that long ago, typically bounding into Bucky’s room whenever he chooses.

“Come in,” Bucky calls and the door slowly opens.

“Hi,” Steve says.

“Hello,” Bucky says, somewhat amused at this new formality.

Steve quietly closes the door behind him, then takes a few tentative steps into Bucky’s room. “I wanted to talk,” he says.

“You’ve never asked for permission before,” Bucky says.

Steve laughs, then perches on the edge of Bucky’s bed. He faces away from Bucky. “See, that’s what I’ve always liked about you.”

“What’s that?” Bucky asks.

“You’re so funny, but so understated. You’re funnier than any jester I’ve ever seen just by changing the tone of your voice.”

Bucky isn’t sure what to say to that, so he says nothing.

“And you’re thoughtful about when you speak,” Steve says after a long pause, craning his neck to look at Bucky. “I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut.”

“I like what you have to say,” Bucky says.

Steve opens his mouth, then shuts it. If the moment didn’t seem so serious, Bucky would laugh.

“I wanted to talk to you about tomorrow,” Steve says, not looking at Bucky again.

“Yes, tomorrow,” Bucky says. “Our wedding.” Steve nods. Bucky’s stomach drops. He swallows hard, and grabs the silk sheets on his bed tightly, giving him something to ground himself. “What about it?” he asks.

“I wanted to… If you wanted a way out. If you didn’t want this.” He pauses. “I know all of the ways out of here. We could escape and live undercover with the humans. If you didn’t want this. If you… if you didn’t want  _me_.”

“What do you want?” Bucky asks, feeling the world start to spin around him.

“You,” Steve says, looking back at Bucky. He gives a small, apologetic smile. “Since that night in the hallway, I’ve wanted nothing but you. But if you… I know I’m a lot to deal with. I know I’m not your equal.” He starts talking quickly and Bucky’s mind can barely wrap around the words he’s saying. “You’re beautiful and dignified. You know what to say and how to say it. I don’t know… I’m not…”

Bucky straightens up and moves across the bed to where Steve is sitting. He looks at Steve, who looks back at him with wide eyes. Then, he leans in and kisses Steve, one hand in Steve’s hair, the other on his neck. Steve’s lips taste as sweet as apples.

“We complete each other,” Bucky says. “Fire and ice. Day and night. Light and dark. We need each other.”

“I need you,” Steve says, voice cracking.

Bucky nods. “I need you, too.” He pauses, letting his fingers trail up and down Steve’s bicep before he looks back up at Steve. “I love you,” he says finally.

“I love you, too.”

They kiss again, and in the morning, they get married.

— —

Generations later, their rule would be known as a golden age, where the Seelie and Unseelie Courts worked together in unprecedented harmony. Tales would be written of the peace talks between the fae and the humans, led by their Kings. Songs would be written about how the Court cultures intertwined, creating a bridge between them that would last for generations.

But more than anything, they would be remembered as the Kings who loved each other so much that they changed the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/169949189034/have-you-ever-thought-of-unseelie-and-seelie-fae) or [check out kenobrea's blog](http://kenobrea.tumblr.com/post/170016872930/art-deco-prince-steve-bucky-inspired-by-whtafts).


	37. Real Estate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: ""God, stop doing that!" "Doing what?" Stucky get together angsty fluff"

Bucky wakes up with Steve in his bed for the third night in the row.

The first time, it was because Steve’s pipes froze and Steve got the call from his landlord right after he climaxed. It seemed natural. The second night, it was because Steve still didn’t have water in his apartment and they were going to fuck anyway, so it didn’t seem like such a big deal.

But the water is back on in Steve’s apartment. They had just watched a movie and blew each other. Steve didn’t even take off his shirt. Then, he’d just crawled into bed like this is something that they do.

This isn’t something that they do. They have been doing things for over a year now, on and off. But this isn’t something that they do.

“Morning,” Steve says, smiling before sort of wiggling around in that way he does when he first wakes up. Bucky shouldn’t know that he does that, because they shouldn’t be staying the night together, but he does now.

It’s a problem.

“Hi,” Bucky says, voice flat.

“I knew you weren’t a morning person, but I didn’t realize you’d be so adorably grumpy.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and flops back down on his pillows, stares at the ceiling, and wonders about how exactly this happened. He’d given up on any hope of being anything more than fuck buddies with Steve by the fifth booty call, and he’d been fine. He’d moved on. He’d kept fucking Steve, but he’d blocked him off emotionally. Shut that drawer. Thrown away the key. Made a bunch of other metaphors that seem sort of meaningless now that Steve’s slept in his bed three nights in a row.

Then Steve is hovering above him. “I know how to wake you up,” he says.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “How?” he asks.

Steve grins with that big, beautiful mouth of his and leans down for a kiss.

So, they kiss. And they keep kissing. There’s nothing sexual about it, too. It’s going nowhere. And that’s really nice, and if every part of Bucky weren’t filled with anxiety, it would probably be a relaxing and lovely way to wake up in the morning. It would be something he could get used to if he were in a loving relationship with another person. But  _he is not in a loving relationship with Steve_.

Steve must feel him tense up because he pulls away. “You okay?” he asks in a soft voice, reaching over and stroking Bucky’s cheekbone. He blinks slowly, and Bucky can see his stupid long eyelashes and suddenly he feels claustrophobic.

“God, stop doing that!” he spits out.

Steve blinks, drops his hand. “Doing what?” he asks. His eyes go a little wide. “Is it my morning breath? I can go brush my teeth.”

“No, Jesus, get off of me,” Bucky says, knowing how harsh he sounds.

Steve frowns and slowly removes himself from Bucky, telegraphing his movements like Bucky is a dog who just had a spook. “Okay,” Steve says slowly. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Why are you here?” Bucky asks as he sits up.

Steve blinks. “What?”

“Here, in my bed, right now? Why?”

Steve shrugs. “I was here and it’s cold out and I thought you didn’t mind. You don’t want me to sleep over again?”

Bucky swallows. “I don’t know what it means,” he says.

“I thought it was obvious.”

“This isn’t what you do. We do.”

Steve pauses, exhales. He starts to pick at a lose thread on one of Bucky’s blankets. “Is there a reason it can’t be something we do?” he asks. “I like it when we do this,” he adds, a little quieter.

“I like it too,” Bucky says, and Steve perks up a little. Before Steve can interrupt him, Bucky continues, “But this isn’t something that I want to do with someone who isn’t serious about me.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asks.

“You’ve made it really clear to me that our relationship has certain boundaries, and when you stay over those start to blur for me. I don’t want to push you away by wanting more than what you want to give me.”

“Is this… is this about anal? Because I could—” Steve asks.

“It’s about emotions, you asshole!” Bucky interrupts.

“Emotions?”

Bucky swallows hard, knowing that he’s probably messing absolutely everything up, but he manages to say, “I don’t want to fall in love with you.”

Steve stares at him. “Why not?” he asks.

“Because you don’t want me to.”

“I never said that!” Steve says.

“Then what do you want?” Bucky asks, flopping back down onto the bed. He can’t take it. This is the most irritating conversation he’s had in his entire life.

And then Steve is looming over him again. “I want you to fall in love with me,” he says.

Bucky’s heart starts beating very,  _very_  fast. “And why’s that?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“Because I love you.”

And then Bucky is surging up, wrapping himself around Steve and kissing him. Steve kisses back with gusto, and honestly it’s not the best kiss in the world, except it is the best kiss in the world.

“I’m staying over tonight, too,” Steve says when he finally pulls away.

“You better start paying rent,” Bucky says.

“You too,” Steve says. Bucky raises an eyebrow. “For the real estate you’ve taken in my heart.”

“Oh my God,” Bucky groans, flopping onto the bed one more time.

Steve flops down next to him and grins. “But you love me.”

“Lord help me, I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/170022999489/god-stop-doing-that-doing-what-stucky-get)


	38. The Bachelor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "“Can we tell my parents that I’m at your house, just in case they get suspicious”"

“Who are you going out with tonight?” Steve asks, trying not to roll his eyes as he hikes his backpack up on his shoulder.

“Dot,” Bucky says. “She’s in your AP Enviornmental Science class.”

“Oh,” Steve says with a frown. Dot is… not so nice to him. Not that many people are, but it was just last week that Dot and a few of her friends sat in the back of class and laughed at him while he tripped on his way through the door.

“You don’t like her?” Bucky asks, smile falling.

Steve exhales. He knows that if he says yes, Bucky will go all knight-in-shining armor and cancel the date and give Dot and her friends another reason to hate him. So he shrugs. “She’s fine.”

Bucky gives him a searching look, then just exhales and shakes his head. “Mind if I tell my parents that I’m at your house, just in case they get suspicious?” he asks.

“Becca refusing to cover for you?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “She’s mad because I left Taco Bell wrappers in her car.”

“Ooh, what’d you get?” Steve asks.

“Nothing,” Bucky says. “Clara asked for some on the way home and she dropped them! I didn’t realize it until the next morning.” He groans. “Such a bad date and it ended with Becca getting mad at me.”

“Not gonna work out with Clara?” Steve asks.

“Hasn’t worked out with anyone,” Bucky says. He pauses, looks at Steve, and kind of scrunches up his nose. “Maybe Dot,” he says with a little sigh.

“Maybe Dot,” Steve says, nudging Bucky’s side and smiling.

— —

Steve is halfway through this week’s episode of  _The Bachelor_  when he hears voices downstairs. Confused — his mom should be alone — he pauses the show on his computer and perks up, trying to eavesdrop.

He hears Bucky say, “Thanks Sarah” and his mom laugh before footsteps approach his door. By the time Bucky knocks, he’s expecting it and tells him to come in. “Hey,” Bucky says, edging into the room and droping his backpack on the floor. He jumps in Steve’s bed and lays down next to him on his stomach. “What’re we watching?” he asks.

“ _The Bachelor_ ,” Steve says, because he only has one secret he keeps from Bucky.

“Oooh,” Bucky says. “Turn it up.”

They watch the rest of the episode together, groaning and cringing and laughing at the same parts, because the show is ridiculous.

“Are there any other episodes?” Bucky asks after the credits roll.

“No, I’m all caught up now.” He pauses. “So…” he says.

“Dot kind of sucked,” Bucky says.

Steve nods. “Knew that,” he says, because he can’t help himself.

Bucky levels him with a glare. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Sometimes you have to figure things out for yourself. I can’t do everything for you all the time,” he says, mock serious.

Bucky jabs his side.

“Ouch!” Steve exclaims, though he knows he deserved it.

“Anyhow,” Bucky says, pointedly changing the subject, “I decided to come over so I didn’t actually lie to my parents.”

“Fair,” Steve says. He pauses, then says, “But that date was real short.”

Bucky looks down at the computer screen and sighs. “Honestly, she started saying some really rude stuff.”

“About you?” Steve says, straightening up, ready for a fight.

Bucky shakes his head. “About  _you_ ,” he says. He still doesn’t meet his eyes. “She started saying some stuff about you in class and… I kind of let her have it, y’know?”

“You didn’t have to defend me,” Steve says.

“It’s not really… I don’t think of it like that,” Bucky says. He sighs. “I don’t get it. I don’t get why no one else sees you the way I do. You’re…  _I’m_  lucky that you bother with me. Why doesn’t anyone else see that? You’re the most amazing person I know. You’re creative, you’re funny, you’re… I mean, you’re everything, Steve. The whole damn package.”

Steve ducks his head. “Buck…”

“You should be the one going on all these dates,” Bucky says, flipping over and spreading out, starfished on his back.

Steve just lets himself look at his friend. “Even if people were banging down my door I wouldn’t want to go,” he says.

“But you deserve—”

“I got you,” Steve interrupts. “I don’t need anything else.”

Bucky looks at him for a long moment, then blinks. “I…” he starts, but trails off. He does that nose scrunchy thing again, then straightens up so he’s sitting next to Steve. “Okay,” he says, then leans in and pecks Steve on the lips.

When Bucky moves away Steve’s eyes are wide and he’s pretty sure he needs his inhaler.

“Was that okay?” Bucky asks.

Steve nods, then wheezes.

“Do you need your inhaler?” Bucky asks.

Steve nods, though he’s not 100% sure if he actually needs it.

Bucky gets off the bed and goes to Steve’s desk where his inhaler is. He brings it over to Steve, who takes it, but doesn’t use it.

“You okay?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah,” Steve says.”That was just a surprise.”

“A good surprise?” Bucky asks.

Steve nods, maybe a little too enthusiastically. “A very good surprise.”

Bucky grins. “You know what this means?” Bucky asks. Steve shakes his head. “You’re never gonna have to cover for me again.”

Steve grins, grabs the collar of Bucky’s shirt, and pulls him down for some more sweet kissing.

They’ve got a lot of other dates to make up for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/170025901714/stuckygetting-together-either-one-of-these)


	39. Bajulate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "Bajulate: to bear a heavy burden for Sam Wilson"

“You’re heavy as  _hell_ ,” Sam says as he drags Bucky Barnes through a Wakandan jungle as aliens shoot at them from behind.

All in all, it has not been a good day.

It is not being made any better by Bucky’s dead weight slung over his shoulder. Even with his new and improved arm, he’s a heavy dude.

“Seriously, what do you  _eat_?” Sam asks.

“I was cyrogenically frozen. I wasn’t eating shit,” Bucky says, then he groans, because he’s a drama assassin and can’t take an alien bullet.

To be fair, Sam couldn’t take an alien bullet, but Sam I also 100% organic human with no super soldier serum. Bucky should be able to take a bullet or two.

“Think I got hit five fucking times. Five  _fucking_  times,” Bucky says. “Stop, Jesus, stop,” he says.

Sam stops. “Five times?” he asks.

Bucky looks up at him with those ridiculously shiny baby blues. “Five fucking times,” he corrects, then snorts. “Thanks,” he says. “I know I’m kind of a burden.”

Sam swallows hard. “Don’t die on me,” he says. “That’ll be really annoying.” If his voice cracks when he says it, neither of them mention it.

Bucky nods. “I won’t if you won’t.”

“I gotta get back out there,” Sam says.

“But you’ll be back,” Bucky says, cracking a little smile with the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “I’ll be back.”

Maybe not so much of a burden after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/170744672649/bajulate-for-sam-wilson)


	40. Amandation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Generaloftheuniverse asked: "Amandation: act of sending away or dismissing for stucky?"

Bucky is smoking a cigarette somewhere in France. He’s not sure where, exactly. He’s not sure he cares, either. All he’s trying to care about is this cigarette, the sensation of smoke in his lungs, the few moments of quiet and peace he’s catching even though he can’t sleep.

He hasn’t slept much, lately. He’s not sure he cares about that, either. When he can sleep, the nightmares starts. He’ll do just about anything to keep the nightmares from starting.

“Bucky,” he hears someone say. He hears  _Steve_  say. He’d know that voice anywhere, even if he hates that he does. It’s the same deep voice he’s always known; it just hurts now to hear it.

“I’m here,” Bucky says, because there’s no use hiding. He doesn’t want to put out his cigarette, either. He takes a long drag.

He hears footsteps and then Steve’s there, standing next to him. God, he’s so big now, even when he has his arms crossed over his chest, slouching like his back is bad again. “Hey Buck,” Steve says.

“What brings you out here?” Bucky asks. Steve should be in his warm room, or at least at the bar, surrounded by friends. He should be with Peggy Carter, who is somewhere around here; though, Bucky doesn’t know where. Bucky doesn’t like to look at Peggy Carter, or Steve, especially when they’re around one another. It makes his goddamn chest ache, and he has enough pain already without that.

“I was looking for you,” Steve says, too honest. “What’re you doing out here?”

“Smoking,” Bucky says, then takes a drag. He doesn’t look at Steve. He blinks a few times in the darkness.

“I was thinking you could come back to my room tonight. We could talk or…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. Both of them know how he wants to end, either with Bucky on his knees, or below Steve. It’s not something Bucky can do today. It’s not something Bucky can do anymore.

“Go to bed, Steve,” Bucky says.

“Bucky—“

“Go to bed,” Bucky repeats.

Steve is quiet for a long moment. “I want you to come with me,” he says. “I want it to be like—”

“No,” Bucky says, quiet but firm. “It can’t be.”

“Buck—” He can practically hear Steve setting his jaw, getting ready for a fight. He doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want any of this shit.

“Go to bed. I’m not gonna tell you again.”

“Alright,” Steve says, voice rough. “But tomorrow—”

“Ask me again, but it’ll be the same answer.”

“I don’t understand,” Steve says. “What did I do?”

It’s what they did, Bucky wants to say. He doesn’t.

Bucky taps the ash off the edge of his cigarette. “Go to bed.”

Steve does.

Bucky finishes his cigarette and lights another. There are still five hours until dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/170745701049/amandation-and-stucky)


	41. Temerate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "Temerate: to break a bond or promise for Steve"

It’s hard to feel guilty about it. Even now, a year later, Steve can’t bring himself to feel guilty.

He thinks, in his heart of hearts, that Tony built it up to be more than it was. It adrenaline, more than anything else. Just fumbling around after a mission, then two, then three. When Tony started talking about the future or feelings, Steve would nod and smile. He never added anything else. How could he? His heart was frozen so long ago and it seemed wrong to let Tony know why.

When Tony reaches for him after Ultron is gone, Steve takes his hands. “No,” he says.

“Is this about me setting a dangerous murder bot out into the world? Because I think the defeat of said murder bot should be—”

“Tony,” Steve interrupts. “Not when he’s alive. Not when he’s—”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Tony says. “The Winter Soldier? Tell me you’re joking.”

Steve can’t tell him that he’s joking. Steve says nothing at all.

“That’s bullshit,” Tony says.

“He needs me.”

“He needs you like he needs a bullet to the bran.” Tony pauses. “Actually—“

“Don’t,” Steve says.

Tony shakes his head. “I’ve been here this whole time.”

“And I appreciate that.”

“But it’s not enough?” Tony asks, eyebrow raised.

Steve exhales. “I don’t think anything ever would be.”

It’s hard to feel guilty about it. But as he walks Tony walks away, he manages to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/170776621549/temerate-and-steve-please)


	42. Focus Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> downwarddnaspiral asked: "84. “I can’t believe you talked me into this.”"

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Bucky says, swirling the straw around his glass of soda.

Steve kicks his ankle underneath the table. “Focus up.”

Bucky looks up at him and glares. “This is ridiculous.” He looks back down and starts glaring at his soda like it’s personally offended him. “It’s not like anyone would actually believe we’re on a date.”

“Not when you’re looking like that, they won’t,” Steve says. “Sit up! Peggy could walk in at any  moment!”

Bucky sits up straight, but he still looks like this is torture. It’s just one fake date with his best friend. Steve doesn’t know why. He’s paying  _and_  he told Bucky that he could get dessert. All Bucky has to do is look pretty and maybe make Peggy just a little bit jealous. It shouldn’t be so hard — Bucky’s always making people jealous. Half the girls in school are in love with him.

“You can order a milkshake later if you’re really good,” Steve says.

But instead of smiling and agreeing to whatever Steve said like he usually does, he stands up. “This sucks,” Bucky says. “And this isn’t fair.”

“W-what?” Steve chokes out, confused, looking over at the door to make sure that Peggy isn’t coming in, then back to Bucky.

“I go along with all your stuff, your crazy plans, but I’m not gonna do this,” Bucky says. “It’s mean to me,” Bucky says, voice cracking.

“How is it… mean to you?” Steve asks, confused.

“God Steve, don’t make me spell it out,” Bucky says, cheeks going red.

Steve’s mouth drops.

“No,” he says.

“I’m leaving,” Bucky says, grabbing his coat.

“ _No_ ,” Steve says, louder. A few people look their way. Across the room, Peggy enters, but Steve barely notices. All he knows is that Bucky can’t leave looking like that.

So Steve pulls $10 out of his pocket, slaps it on the table, and stands up. Bucky is walking away but Steve catches up and grabs his sleeve. “Buck,” he says.

“I’m  _going_ ,” Bucky says.

“Then I’ll go with you,” Steve says.

“I don’t think it’s—”

“We can go on a real date,” Steve says.

Bucky stops, looks at Steve with wide, vulnerable eyes. “Really?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Steve says. He reaches over and takes Bucky’s hand. “Let’s go.”

He doesn’t need to be talked into anything. Not if it’s with Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/171222285099/84-i-cant-believe-you-talked-me-into-this)


	43. Dishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rawremodino asked: "26. “I think I’ve been holding myself from falling in love with you all over again.”  
> 27\. “I’m not going to apologise for this. Not anymore.”"

Steve finds Bucky scrubbing a pan in the kitchen.

“Hey,” Steve says. “You don’t need to do that.”

Bucky doesn’t look up; he just keeps scrubbing as he says, “Didn’t want to leave you with a pile of dishes.”

Steve chuckles. “I knew what I was doing when I decided to throw a dinner party. Come back out with everyone. Everyone was asking about you.”

“You couldn’t cook like this three years ago,” Bucky says, pulling the pan out of the water and setting it on the drying rack. He reaches over and grabs a plate. “You couldn’t cook  _anything_  three years ago.”

“I couldn’t depend on you to cook for me anymore,” Steve says, shrugging.

Bucky used to cook for Steve almost every night when they lived together. The rule was that Bucky cooked and Steve cleaned; it worked out well. When Bucky moved to Bucharest for his post-doc, Steve spent about six months living off of take-out and microwaveable meals before he signed up for a cooking class. It’s still not his favorite activity in the world, but he can take care of himself now. Honestly, part of why he threw this shindig was to show Bucky that he could. That he could take care of himself. That he was better now. That he was sorry he let Bucky go in the first place.

Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.

Bucky looks up at Steve for just a moment, then back down to the sink. “I’ll finish this up then head out.”

“What?” Steve asks, brow furrowing. “Why?”

“Long night,” Bucky says.

Steve just watches him scrub for another few seconds, waiting for him to say something else. When he doesn’t, he moves in close to him and takes the plate from Bucky’s hand. “You really don’t have to do this.”

Bucky won’t look up at Steve. He stares at the soapy water draining down the sink. “I don’t know what you want from me here,” he says in a quiet voice.

“Buck?” Steve asks, setting the plate down on the drying rack.

“You broke up with me and you moved on. I get that. I don’t know why you had to throw a dinner party to throw that in my face.” He shakes his head. “The past few months… I thought it’d be okay, being your friend. I thought  _we_  were okay. But this just brought everything back and it really sucks, Steve. It really sucks.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Steve says, though it rings a little false. Hadn’t he wanted to show off for Bucky? Hadn’t he been out to prove something? It just… didn’t come off the way he wanted it to.

Bucky sighs. “I can’t come over anymore,” he says.

“No, Buck. I’m sorry, I—”

“I think I’ve been holding myself from falling in love with you all over again,” Bucky says. He finally looks up, eyes brimming with tears. He smiles and it breaks Steve’s heart. “But I think of the truth of the matter is that I never fell out of love with you. And I’m not going to lie to anyone and I’m not going to apologize for this. Not anymore. I just need to go.”

Steve reaches out and grabs Bucky’s arm. “Don’t go,” Steve says.

“Steve—”

“Ever. Don’t leave again. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll cook you a hundred dinners or do the dishes a hundred times. Anything so that you’ll stay.” With his free hand he reaches over and brushes a tear off of Bucky’s cheek. “I love you. I messed up and I’ll always regret it. I’ll do anything to make you stay.”

Steve leans in and kisses Bucky, softly at first, but when he feels Bucky’s soapy hands wrap around his back, he pulls Bucky in close and tries to tell him just how much he loves him through his body.

When Bucky pulls away, he’s smiling again. “This is great and all,” he says, “but can I finish these?” He points over ot the dirty pile of dishes. “It’s kind of nasty.”

“We’ll finish them,” Steve says, reaching out and taking Bucky’s hand. “We’ll do it together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/171245136469/26-27)


	44. Five-Second Rule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "“I have zero control over my magic and I just completely destroyed your living room. Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” AU"

At first Steve thought it was some sort of late onset of puberty.

Now, standing in the charred ruins of Bucky Barnes’ living room, he thinks that it may be something a little bit more than that. He looks up and sees the banner Bucky had special ordered on some house-warming party website for $35 fall to the ground and burst in flames, just barely making out ‘Home Sweet Home’ before it burns completely.

He swallows hard. It’s not so bad, is it? They can still have a party in here if Steve can just sweep up the ash and put out the small fires still smouldering before Bucky gets back with the food.

Of course, that’s when the front door opens. It’s Bucky. He’s back with the food, which he drops as soon as he takes a step into the apartment.

“Five-second rule?” Steve offers as he looks at the pile of appetizers that have spilled out of the cardboard box Bucky was carrying them in.

“Please punch me,” Bucky says.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Punch me. So I wake up. Because this must be a dream,” Bucky says in a level voice, unable to tear his eyes from the burnt remains of his IKEA armchair.

Steve exhales. “I think we’re going to need to cancel the party,” he says.

Bucky finally wrenches his eyes from the armchair. “What happened?” he asks.

“Will you believe me if I tell the truth?” Steve asks.

“As long as the truth involves you paying for the repairs, then yeah, I’ll belive you.”

“It’s been a really weird month,” Steve starts.

By the end of the conversation, Bucky’s cancelled the party. They have a lot of research to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/172294072244/one-of-the-first-two-magic-prompts)


	45. Serious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "“I’m cursed to be ugly forever, but you called me handsome??? And I just???? What???” AU please!"

“Hi,” says the handsome guy at the bar next to him. He has this charming sort of dopey grin and and he’s leaning in close, a beer in hand. There’s no denying he’s good looking, with blue eyes, dark hair and a cleft in his chin. The only question is why this handsome man is greeting Steve at all; Steve must be in his way or something. But before Steve can back up, he’s inching in closer and asking, “Can I get you a drink, handsome?”

Steve looks behind him. There’s no one there. He looks back at the man, who is making unrelenting eye contact with Steve.

Maybe it’s a joke? Maybe someone put this guy up to this, maybe it was—

“What’re you drinking?” the guy asks.

“Nothing,” Steve says. “I was just leaving.”

The guy frowns. “Did I come on too strong?” he asks, then deflates a little. “Sorry, I just… you’re just…” He exhales, cheeks puffing out a little. “Sorry to bother you.”

“I just don’t think it’s very funny,” Steve says.

“What’s funny?” the guy asks.

“Making fun of me,” Steve says, looking down to his empty glass. He traces the rim with the tip of his index finger. “It’s not funny,” he mumbles.

Sometimes Steve looks in the mirror and wonders if he’s cursed. He finds every aspect of himself repugnant; most people tend to agree. He knows what this guy is doing — he’s seen people flirt before. Steve just knows that some things aren’t meant for him, and he’s been the butt of a cruel joke before.

The guy is quiet for a moment, then says, “I’m Bucky.”

“Huh?”

“That’s my name. I’m Bucky.”

Steve frowns. “Okay?”

“And I’ve been staring at you for about the past half hour, trying to work up the courage to come say hi. So, I get it if you’re not interested. Say the word and I’ll fuck right off. But. It’s no joke. I don’t really know you, but I’d like to get to know you. That’s why I came over. There’s no reason other than that.”

“Oh,” Steve says. He looks down to his glass, then back up at Bucky. “Vodka tonic,” he says.

Bucky lights up in an instant, grinning in that same dopey way. “Yeah?” he asks.

“And I’m Steve, by the way,” Steve says.

“Nice name.”

“Not the only thing about me that’s nice,” Steve says as he waggles his eyebrows a little; Bucky laughs.

“See,” he says. “Now that’s a fun joke.”

“Who says I was joking?” Steve asks.

Bucky’s cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink as he glances down and bites his bottom lip.

And for the first time Steve thinks this guy is truly serious.


	46. Good Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> favvnsongs asked: "1. don’t leave"

“Well?” Steve asks, doing a dorky little turn so Bucky can get the full three hundred-sixty degree view of his new blue suit. It looks good on him, hugging his wide shoulders and emphasizing the way his body tapers down to his hips.

Bucky has to look away before he stares.

“Can’t believe you found that at Goodwill,” he says, getting up and walking across the room to grab his cellphone. There’s no texts or emails waiting for him, but it’s an excuse to do anything besides look at how good Steve looks in that suit. It just gives him the opportunity to  _think_  about how good Steve looks in that suit, which somehow doesn’t make him feel any less pathetic.

“It was a lucky find,” Steve says as he moves to the full-length mirror on the wall. “Can’t get the tie right, though,” he says, fiddling with it. He turns to Bucky. “Can you help me?” he asks.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “You’re twenty-six. You should be able to tie a tie,” he says, but he’s already moving towards Steve and reaching out to retie the skinny black tie he’s paired with the ensemble. Bucky — who works in a somewhat respectable office and wears a tie four days a week (with the exception of casual Friday) — undoes the mess Steve made and starts retying the tie with ease. But even his practiced movements become slower and a little clumsier as he sees Steve looking at him while he ties, as he feels Steve’s breath on his fingers.

When he’s done he practically scrambles away from Steve, flexing his fingers like he’s Mr. Darcy after he’s helped Elizabeth into a carriage.

Steve just smiles at him. “Thanks,” he says.

“Not a problem.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, just looking at each other. Bucky is the first to break it, looking down at the beige carpet of Steve’s apartment. “I should probably get going,” he says.

“Oh,” Steve says. Bucky looks back up to see Steve’s brow furrowed. “There’s still a little time.”

“I don’t really want to run into your date on my way out,” Bucky says. “It may send the wrong message.”

“Having friends isn’t the wrong message,” Steve says, squaring his shoulders.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “It’s the principle of the thing.”

“I just…” Steve pauses, frowns. He takes a second to think about what he’s going to say next, jaw working a little even though his mouth is still closed. It’s an expression that Bucky is used to by now, and he knows not to interrupt. Sometimes he hates the way he can read Steve better than he can read himself. “I probably should be eager for him to get here but I mostly just don’t want you to go.”

“I know I’m very good company, but I do have better things to do tonight than third-wheel on your date.”

“Like what?” Steve asks.

“Cable,” Bucky says with a shrug. “I may get a hamburger from the place next door if I’m feeling really wild.”

“That sounds fun,” Steve says. He’s frowning  _harder_  somehow, looking at his freshly-polished shoes.

“I’ve gotten used to entertaining myself since you two started going steady,” Bucky says. When Steve looks up at him, he turns away. He’s not sure that he can face looking him in the eye after saying that.

“But you have other friends,” Steve says, taking a step closer to Bucky.

Bucky sighs. “Don’t start feeling guilty, Jesus,” he says, plopping down on the edge of Steve’s bed.

“No, I’m Steve.”

Bucky looks up and levels Steve with an unimpressed glare.

“I knew that’d get you to look at me again,” Steve says, coming even closer to where Bucky is sitting.

Bucky groans.

“Sometimes I wonder why it is that I know your expressions better than I know my own,” Steve says. He’s close now, stopping just in front of Bucky. “How do I look in my suit?” he asks in a quiet voice.

Bucky swallows hard. He takes a breath, then looks up at Steve. “You look really fucking good,” he says.

“Don’t leave,” Steve says.

“Okay,” Bucky says.

Steve leans in. Bucky closes his eyes. And then Steve pulls away in an instant.

“I’ve gotta break up with him!” he exclaims with wide eyes.

Bucky snorts then falls into Steve’s bed, heart hammering and without grace. “I’ll be waiting,” he says with a smile.

— —

Two hours later they’re together in Steve’s bed with the TV playing softly in the background. Steve leans in. Bucky closes his eyes. Then they kiss.

It’s something new from Steve, something Bucky doesn’t know anything about.

But he’s sure that he’ll be able to learn these things about Steve, and soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/172330568579/hmmmm-1)


	47. Limbo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elvashayam asked: "1. don’t leave"

Sometimes Bucky looks out their apartment window while Steve is out. He shouldn’t; he knows that it’s only a matter of time until someone sees Steve and can look past his beard and glasses. He knows that it’s only a matter of time until someone sees him and can see the murderer inside of him.

It feels like limbo. It feels like they’re treading water at the end of the world, even though they just stopped the world from ending. Thanos is gone. Everyone but Sam and T’Challa thinks they’re dead.

But they’re here, back in Brooklyn. Steve is at the shop, fixing someone’s old Nissan and should be back within the hour. Bucky will head to work at the distribution center in the morning. It’s like how it should’ve been. It’s nothing like it should be.

Bucky hears the door open but doesn’t move. He hears Steve’s footsteps, the door to their room opening up. “Buck?” Steve asks.

“Hey,” Bucky says, still looking outside. There’s a kid walking hand-in-hand with a woman, probably his mother. He holds a red balloon in his hand, bouncing with each of his happy steps.

Steve comes around and wraps his arms around Bucky’s chest. He leans in and kisses Bucky’s neck. Bucky closes his eyes; he exhales. “Hey Buck,” Steve says in Bucky’s ear, voice just above a whisper.

“Don’t leave,” Bucky says.

“No one could make me.”

Bucky turns around in Steve’s arms. He looks at Steve — at his beard, at his dyed hair, at the ratty clothes he’s wearing. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever seen,” he says.

“Keep looking,” Steve says with a smile. “We’ve got all day.”

“Sure we do,” Bucky says, and before Steve can say anything else he leans in for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/172362559324/1-because-im-trash)


	48. Wrinkles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "hi! if you're still looking for prompts, I feel like you would be really wonderful at writing number 2(?)4. "tender""

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER ALERT!!!! 
> 
> While this fic was written before Infinity War, it references general themes of the movie that were discernible from the trailers.

Bucky Barnes doesn’t look in the mirror anymore.

There was a time where he looked in the mirror near constantly, always checking his hair, his clothes, his teeth. He used to like looking at himself in the mirror; he liked who he saw looking back. But then he didn’t, so he doesn’t. And it just doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

So it’s a surprise the night before the world is supposed to end when Steve starts tracing lines on Bucky’s face with the tip of his index finger.

“What are you doing?” Bucky asks, quiet, even though it’s just the two of them.

They’re laying together in the room Bucky’s lived in since Shuri woke him back up. There are large windows with thick curtains that Bucky pulls back each morning and a door with no bars on it. The bed is larger than anything he’s ever slept on before, big enough that he and Steve can both lay comfortably with a foot or two of space between them.

But they’re not laying far apart. They’re curled up, pressed into each other with as much skin touching as possible. It’s probably the last time they’ll be able to do this and they know it. Bucky doesn’t look away from Steve, not for a moment.

“You have wrinkles,” Steve says. “I’m following them.”

Something catches in Bucky’s throat, making it hard to swallow. “I hadn’t noticed,” he says. He hadn’t looked in the mirror; he hadn’t realized that much time had gone by.

“It would be hard to notice with that beard,” Steve says, smiling as he gently tugs on Bucky’s whiskers.

“Like you’re one to talk,” Bucky says, flicking the side of Steve’s face with his right hand.

Before Bucky can pull his hand back, Steve reaches up and grabs Bucky’s hand, then presses a tender kiss to his palm before letting it go. He looks back up at Bucky and exhales. “You have wrinkles,” he repeats in a soft tone, somewhere between unbelieving and amazed.

“Is that a bad thing?” Bucky asks, too tired to bother much with vanity anymore.

Steve shakes his head. “We spent a lot of time apart,” he says after a long pause. “And this…” He moves his hand back to Bucky’s cheek. “It’s enough.”

“But you wish there was more time,” Bucky says.

The words hang in the quiet air between them. Outside the curtains, Wakanda prepares for battle. Outside the curtains, there’s a world about to end. But here, all Bucky can hear is the soft rustle of the sheets, the quiet hum of the air conditioning. But here, all Bucky can see is Steve Rogers.

“Is that so wrong?” Steve asks with a small, pinched smile.

“No,” Bucky says. “It’s what I’d wish for, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/172695558084/hi-if-youre-still-looking-for-prompts-i-feel)


	49. Wonderland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> limoria asked: "Wonderland Stucky"

“Fuck no,” Bucky says as he punches the rabbit in the oddly anthropomorphic face.

“Don’t punch the rabbit,” Sam mutters, rolling his eyes as he watches Bucky act like an ass.

Ignoring Sam, Steve grabs the rabbit by the lapels of his jacket. The rabbit’s eyes are watering and he sniffs. “Dear boy that hurt. There was no need to be so curt.”

“I’m gonna fuckin’ murder him,” Bucky says, pulling a knife from his belt and putting it up to the rabbit’s throat.

“Oh sir, please have mercy! There need not be controversy!”

“Can you only speak in rhymes or is that a choice?” Sam asks.

“Why does it matter? It’s just how I natter.”

Sam sighs. Bucky looks back at Sam and raises his eyebrows. “I don’t condone violence against animals,” he says. The rabbit takes a relieved breath. “But I think we can make an exception since this asshole stole Steve.”

“Time to get me a lucky rabbit’s foot,” Bucky says as the rabbit squirms under his grasp. “It’ll hurt less if you stay still—”

“He’s at the castle! But getting there’s a hassle! You’ll need to pass the trials, which will take some wiles. It’s best to forget your friend and turning back is what I’d recommend. If you decide to go, you should know—”

A bullet to the head and the rabbit’s dead.

“Gross,” Sam says.

“I couldn’t take it anymore,” Bucky says, trying to brush some of the blood off of his gloved hand. “Besides, everythin’ in here is a computer-generated illusion. I’ll kill whatever I want here.”

“Okay Mr. McGregor, let’s get to the castle and rescue your boyfriend. Maybe then you won’t go around shooting bunny rabbits in the head.”

Bucky shrugs. “No promises. There are no rules in Wonderland.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/173013894724/wonderland-stucky)


	50. A Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "pirate au. steve/bucky please."

“Stop!” Pierce cries as he stumbles backwards. “I’ll give you everything we have. Listen to reason, man. There’s no need to kill me.”

“No mention of your crew?” Bucky asks, taking another step forward, gun pointed at Pierce’s head. “You selfish bastard.”

“I can only barter for my own life,” Pierce says. Bucky sees the way he has trouble swallowing, the sweat gathering on his upper brow. Pierce has talked himself out of a thousand life-threatening moments, but never like this. He’s never faced Bucky Barnes’ fury before.

“Make me an offer,” Bucky says, an angry smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Convince me not to kill you where you stand.”

“I have money,” Pierce says. “I have power.”

“I have money and power enough,” Bucky says. “Say his name,” Bucky says.

Pierce glares at him. “You’re the Winter Soldier,” he says. “The most dreaded pirate—”

“Not my name,” Bucky interrupts, voice practically a growl. “ _His_.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Pierce says. “You’re—”

Bucky doesn’t let him finish, just closes the space between them with a determined stride, pushes Pierce against a wall, and places his gun to Pierce’s temple. “Say his  _fucking_  name, Alexander.” He glares at Pierce, something feral clawing at his chest as he breathes hard.

God, Steve would’ve hated him like this.

But this is who he is now, briny, worn, something that the sea took down then spat back out. He’s the Winter Soldier and his crew is the deadliest in the world. They’ve killed better men than Pierce; he’s killed better men than Pierce. He doesn’t want money. He doesn’t want power. He just wants to pull this trigger.

His finger shakes. He swallows hard.

“Bucky Barnes,” Pierce says, voice suddenly level. He chuckles. “By God, you’re Bucky Barnes, aren’t you?”

“Do you want to die?” Bucky asks. He shuts his mouth, grinds his teeth.

“You can’t kill me,” Pierce says, smiling. “You could never kill me. Who would you be without me? I taught you to sail, gave you your post. You’d be a gutter rat if it weren’t for me. Both you and the other boy.”

Bucky feels his mouth twitch.

Overhead he can hear stomping feet, gunshots. He doesn’t have time for Pierce’s games. His crew will find him soon and they cannot see him like this.

“Say his name,” Bucky says, blinking back tears.

“If that’s all,” Pierce says with a snide grin. “It was S—”

Bucky shoots him in the head.

Pierce goes down with a thump as Bucky blinks the blood away from his eyes. Moments later, he falls to his knees. He takes one heaving breath, then another, then looks to the wooden planks above him.

“It’s over, Steve,” he says. “What do I do now?” he asks.

Steve doesn’t answer. Steve is dead. He has been for years now.

And though Bucky thought that revenge would be enough, he still feels empty as he looks Pierce’s lifeless corpse.

There are footsteps drawing closer.

Bucky pulls himself up and holsters his gun.

He’s still got a crew to subdue, a boat to seize, and a life to live.

He may not be living the life Steve would’ve wanted for him, but Steve would still want him to live his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/173015048149/pirate-au-stevebucky-please)


	51. Hufflepuff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "Hogwarts AU with stucky?"

“Where are you headed?” Natasha asks from her usual spot in the Slytherin common room. She’s not even looking up from the copy of  _Witch Weekly_  she’s reading as Steve passes, and Steve will never stop being impressed with her for that skill. No wonder Professor Trelawney likes her so much.

“To the library,” Steve lies.

Natasha looks up for the first time. “You’re a terrible liar,” she says. “Go have fun mooning over the Hufflepuff keeper.”

“I’m not!” Steve huffs. “I just like to study on the Quidditch Pitch. It’s comfortable there.”

“Oh yes, very comfortable with the wind blowing and the players shouting and Bucky Barnes looking oh so handsome in his training robes.”

“I don’t even know who Bucky Barnes is,” Steve says. “Who’s that? I don’t even—”

“He’s been your potions partner for two years,” Natasha says. “You literally rode in the same train car on the way to school this year. He stopped by the table yesterday to—”

“I am going to the Quidditch Pitch because I need to ask Bucky a question about the Potions homework after he’s done with practice,” Steve says in a way he knows is convincing.

Natasha looks back to her magazine. “Sure,” she says. Feeling satisfied, he turns around just to have her say, “Rumor is that Bucky got a new uniform that he’ll be showing off today…”

Face red, Steve storms out of the common room, hearing Natasha call, “Make sure to report back on all of their moves!” as he goes.

— —

When practice ends, Bucky flies into the stands, new robes billowing out behind him, then hops off of his broom and into the stands next to Steve. “Hey,” he says.

“I’m not spying,” Steve says.

Bucky raises an eyebrow as he removes the goggles he likes to play in. “Okay,” he says, setting the goggles down next to his broom.

“I’m serious,” Steve says. “I’m not.”

“That’s just making me think you are, you know,” Bucky teases, plopping down next to Steve. “But you want to know how I know you’re not spying for Slytherin?” he asks.

“How?” Steve asks, knowing he’s a fish going to the bait.

“You don’t know what any of the plays are,” he says, grinning.

Rolling his eyes, Steve says, “And I’m also not here just to moon over you,” he says.

“Oh?” Bucky asks. “I mean, you are a pale blob hanging up in the skies and watching me.”

“It’s not mooning when the affection is mutual,” Steve says with a frown.

Bucky grins, then leans in for a kiss. He smells like sweat, his hair’s a mess, and his lips are chapped, but Steve still grins into their kiss just like it’s the first time.

“I think you were sunning,” Bucky says as he pulls away.

“Sunning?” Steve asks.

“The opposite of mooning. You still stare at someone from afar but you know that they’re staring at you back.”

“Oh, so  _that’s_  why you messed up that one play,” Steve says with a solemn nod.

Bucky pokes his side. “Asshole,” he says.

“Hufflepuff,” Steve shoots back.

Bucky grins and Steve can’t help it. He leans in for another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/173197900184/hogwarts-au-with-stucky)


	52. Lion Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "single parent au pls"

“Excuse me, Mister America?” says a kid, barely as tall as Steve’s knee, who is grabbing onto the sleeve of Steve’s uniform. He’s on his way to a press gig, some stupid thing that Tony set up for all of the Avengers after their most recent assignment. He’s in a wide hallway, and people are milling about. Most of them are older, in suits, and carry briefcases. There’s only one cute little boy with curly hair who is holding a well-loved stuffed lion.

“Uh, hello there,” Steve says, looking down at the kid. “Want an autograph?” he asks, because that’s what kids tend to want from him. But the kid shakes his head. “A selfie?”

“No, mister, could you help me find my dad? He’s here to interview you but I can’t find him. I don’t know where he is.”

“Of course I’ll help,” Steve says, embarrassed that he assumed that whatever the kid needed was all about him. He crouches down to the kid’s level. “What’s your name?” he asks.

“Ethan,” the kid says.

“And your dad’s?” Steve asks.

“Bucky.”

“Okay Ethan, what does your pop look like?”

“He’s got the biggest, bluest eyes and floppy black hair.” Ethan’s face starts screwing up and going a little red. A fat tear starts trailing down his cheek. “He’s… He’s… He’s got the pass for the reporters. That’s why he left, he was going to get one for me, t-t-t-too,” Ethan adds before he starts crying in earnest.

Steve, who has not had much experience with crying toddlers, turns around and tells Ethan to climb onto his shoulders. Ethan does. “From here you’ll be able to point him out,” Steve says. “You got your lion?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Ethan says in a quiet voice.

“Lions are great at finding things. You keep your lion at attention, too. What’s his name?”

“Steve,” Ethan says.

“Oh, that’s my name too,” Steve says with a smile.

“Daddy named him Steve, like Captain America. He told me that he’d protect me like Captain America protected New York. He was really excited to see Captain America today and brought me to see him, too.”

Steve turns back to look up at Ethan. “That’s me,” he says, awed as he usually is when he hears things like that.

Ethan nods, very serious. “Daddy said Steve will protect me, but if you’re also Steve, then you’ll protect me, too.”

Steve’s not sure he quite follows the logic, but it makes him smile. “I will,” he promises. “Now where was the last place you saw your—”

“ _Ethan!”_  he hears a voice shout, accompanied by thundering, running footsteps. “Ethan! Ethan?”

“I think he’s gonna find you,” Steve says.

“ _DADDY!_ ” Ethan roars, which makes Steve wince a little.

“ _ETHAN!_ ” he hears again just as a man in a suit wearing press credentials runs down the hall. “Oh thank God,” he says as he sees Ethan and Steve.

“Daddy, I found Steve and he protected me!” Ethan says.

Ethan’s dad, Bucky, looks at Steve and grins. He’s sweating and breathing hard, but even under all the stress, Steve can see that Bucky really does have the biggest, bluest eyes. “Ethan, you can’t assemble the Avengers whenever you’re mildly inconvenienced,” he says, but he’s smiling, relief pouring out of him. “Thank you, sir,” Bucky says. “Can I have my son back?”

Steve nods. “It was no problem, really,” he says, helping Ethan off of his shoulders.

Ethan hops off and runs to his dad, who bends down and engulfs him in a hug, shutting his eyes and squeezing him tight. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” Bucky says. “I was so scared.”

“I was okay, daddy. I won’t get lost like mommy did.”

Bucky seems to choke back a sob.

Steve isn’t quite sure what to do here.

But after a minute, Bucky stands up and looks at Steve. Ethan takes Bucky’s hand. “Thank you,” he says. “I really appreciate it.”

“I’m just glad everything’s fine,” Steve says. “And if you want, you, Ethan, and lion Steve are welcome to a private interview after the junket.” He’s definitely not supposed to offer things like that, but he can’t help it.

Bucky looks at Steve, mouth agape. Ethan giggles. “Ah yes!” Bucky says, when he seems to realize that Steve is being serious. “Definitely! That would be really great!” he says.

“Then it’s a date,” Steve says.

“Huh?” Bucky says.

Ethan giggles some more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reblog this fic on Tumblr.](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/173199432694/single-parent-au-pls)

**Author's Note:**

> As always, you can find me at [whtaft](whtaft.tumblr.com). You can send me prompts there!


End file.
